^appinc^^ 


THE  WORKS  OF 
HUGH  BLACK 


THE  FRIENDSHIP  SERIES 

Friendship 
Work 
Comfort 
Happiness 

Culture  and  Restraint 
Listening  to  God 
Christ's  Service  of  Love 
The  Gift  of  Influence 


HAPPINESS 

BY 

HUGH  BLACK 


CHICAGO -NEW  YORK  •TORONTO 

FLEMING  H.REVELL  COMPANY 

LONDON  •  EDINBURGH 


i   t  i     1 
I  J    i 


>     i       J  J    ) 


•  .»  J  -a  •  ) 


>JJjJ*j       3    -i         i     i      J 


Copyright,  1911 
Bt  Fleiunq  H.  Revelx,  Company. 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  80  Wabash  Avenue 
Toronto:  25  Richmond  St.,  W. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:  100  Princes  Street 


t  c  t 


TO 

Sir  WILLIAM  ROBERTSON  NICOLL 

My  Dear  Nicoll: 

I  sometimes  feel  as  if  I  owed  you  a  grudge  that 
you  made  me  write  books,  but  it  has  been  a  comfort 
that  therefore  you  have  shared  the  responsibility. 
You  are  even  responsible  for  the  kind  of  book ;  for 
I  remember  that  years  ago  in  your  study  in  London, 
when  I  outlined  to  you  an  ambitious  and  learned 
piece  of  work  I  meant  to  do,  you  said  that  plenty 
of  men  were  writing  serious  books  for  the  few  and 
hardly  any  writing  for  the  many.  You  begged  me 
to  give  up  my  scheme.  I  do  not  know  if  it  is  a 
justification,  but  each  volume  of  the  Friendship 
Series  in  which  this  book  appears  has  received 
a  welcome  from  a  larger  public  than  even  you 
anticipated. 

As  you  know,  it  is  a  temptation  to  a  professor  to 
write  a  book  of  learned  appearance,  with  scholastic 

5 


^■ii},ntr.y^ 


words  and  large  foot-notes.  I  have  tried  to  resist 
that  temptation,  and  in  this  case  it  has  meant 
writing  a  book  on  Happiness  without  once  using 
words  like  Hedonism  and  Utilitarianism.  As 
Traddles  says  in  David  Copperfield,  it  has  been  a 
"  pull ". 

I  have  longed  to  write  a  book  worthy  to  dedicate 
to  you,  and  in  despair  I  choose  this  one.  At  any 
rate  I  feel  that  it  is  appropriate  to  associate  your 
name  with  this  subject,  as  no  one  has  written  more 
wisely  than  you  on  the  art  of  living,  which  is  the  art 
of  happiness.  Also,  one  of  the  elements  of  happi- 
ness to  me  is  that,  though  separated  farther  than  in 
the  old  days,  you  permit  me  to  call  myself  your 
friend. 

HUGH  BLACK. 
New  York  Citx" 


^oiiteni^ 


I 

The  Right  to  Happiness 


•  • 


II 
The  Duty  of  Happiness    ...      29 

III 

The  Soukces  of  Happiness    .     .       55 

IV 

The  Secret  of  Happiness      .     .       85 

V 

The  Art  of  Happiness       .     .     .     Ill 

VI 

The  Grades  of  Happiness     .     .     14S 

VII 

The  Shadow  on  Happiness    .     .     175 

VIII 

The  Foes  of  Happiness     .     .     .     203 

IX 

The  Heart  of  Happiness  .     .     .     229 


If  a  man  is  unhappy,  this  must  be  his  own 
fault;  for  God  made  all  men  to  be  happy. 

—  Epictetus. 


THINGS  have  come  to  such  a 
pass,  both  in  the  theory  and  prac- 
tice of  life,  that  it  is  almost  bold 
doctrine  to  declare  that  men  possess  the 
right  to  happiness.  For  one  thing,  men 
are  not  so  sure  about  inalienable  rights 
as  they  have  sometimes  been.  There  is 
a  famous  sentence  in  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  of  The  United  States  of 
America,  "  We  hold  these  truths  to  be 
self-evident,  —  that  all  men  are  created 
equal;  that  they  are  endowed  by  their 
Creator  with  certain  inalienable  rights ; 
that  among  these  are  life,  liberty,  and 
the  pursuit  of  happiness.''^  The  eight- 
eenth century  was  inclined  to  make  a 
gospel  of  what  it  called  the  rights  of 
man,  and  assumed  that  nature  endowed 
men   with   certain    abstract    rights.      It 

3 


'©Kc  ^i0hi  to 


was  a  great  gospel,  and  led  to  some 
great  results.  But  it  is  more  accurate 
to  say  that  nature  endows  man  with  de- 
sires and  capacities.  Rights  are  the 
creation  of  society,  of  law.  A  man  may 
have  a  desire  to  be  happy  in  a  particu- 
lar way,  but  if  society  thinks  that  this 
way  is  wrong  it  will  not  grant  him  the 
right.  Yet  the  assertion  of  inherent 
claim  to  certain  things,  often  denied  in 
some  forms  of  government,  has  blazed 
a  path  of  progress.  Freedom  of  speech, 
liberty  of  religion,  security  of  person 
under  the  common  law,  whether  we  call 
them  abstract  rights  or  not,  have  justi- 
fied themselves  in  fact.  The  only  point 
worth  making  in  the  criticism  of  in- 
alienable rights  is  that  they  are  not 
mysterious  gifts  from  nature,  and  so 
cannot  be  assumed  without  proof  that 
they  will  minister  to  the  general  social 
welfare. 

Edmund    Burke's    criticism    on    this 
point  puts  the  emphasis  where  it  ought 

4 


^ 


appmc^^ 


to  be  put  —  "  This  sort  of  people  are 
so  taken  up  with  their  theories  about  the 
rights  of  man  that  they  have  totally  for- 
gotten his  nature."  It  is  idle  to  speak 
of  man's  right  to  anything,  if  it  be  con- 
trary to  fundamental  facts  rooted  in  his 
nature.  He  may  possess  the  right  to 
live  till  the  age  of  the  patriarchs,  but  the 
question  is,  Can  he?  So  in  this  subject 
of  happiness  it  is  more  important  to 
know  what  man's  nature  calls  for,  than 
what  we  think  is  his  due.  There  have 
been  many  wordy  battles  among  philos- 
ophers as  to  whether  happiness  could 
be  accepted  as  an  adequate  end  of  life. 
Aristotle  said,  "  Since  all  knowledge  and 
all  purpose  aim  at  some  good,  what  is 
the  highest  of  all  realisable  goods?  As 
to  its  name  I  suppose  nearly  all  men  are 
agreed ;  for  the  masses  and  the  men  of 
culture  alike  declare  that  it  is  happi- 
ness." Men  of  culture  have  by  no  means 
been  agreed  to  accept  this  definition,  and 
indeed  for  centuries  philosophy  has  di- 

5 


^hc  ^isKi  fo 


vided  itself  into  two  hostile  camps   on 
this  very  point. 

The  purpose  of  this  book  is  not  to 
discuss  the  rival  philosophies  which  have 
divided  the  world.  One  of  these  asserts 
that  the  end  of  human  life  can  be  summed 
up  in  the  desire  for  happiness.  It  may 
appear  in  a  refined  or  in  a  gross  form, 
but  in  any  case  the  one  powerful  motive 
of  ethics  is  what  will  make  for  the  wel- 
fare of  the  individual.  We  are  told 
that  if  we  analyse  carefully  we  will  dis- 
cover that  somewhere  lies  pleasure  as 
the  motive  of  an  act.  Pleasure  is  the 
index  of  the  normal  healthy  conscious- 
ness, as  pain  is  the  index  of  the  abnor- 
mal ;  and  life  cannot  help  choosing  along 
the  line  of  pleasure.  The  principle  of 
choice  is  often  obscured,  but  in  one  form 
or  other  it  is  always  the  same.  Sopho- 
cles in  Antigone  makes  a  messenger  who 
brings  bad  news  moralise:  —  "When  a 
man  hath  forfeited  his  pleasures,  I  count 

6 


Sdajpifiixxc&s> 


him  not  as  living  —  I  hold  him  but  a 
breathing  corpse.  Heap  up  riches  in 
thy  house  if  thou  wilt ;  live  in  kingly 
state ;  yet  if  there  be  no  gladness  there- 
in, I  would  not  give  the  shadow  of  a 
vapour  for  all  the  rest,  compared  with 

joy-" 

On  the  other  side  stand  all  the  ideal- 
ists of  the  world,  asserting  that  there  is 
something  higher  than  happiness.  In 
the  intellectual  sphere  they  enthrone 
Truth,  which  its  lovers  are  to  follow  at 
any  cost. 

Last,  if  upon  the  cold  green  mantling  sea 
Thou  cling,  along  with  Truth,  to  the  last  spar 

Both  castaway 
And  one  must  perish  —  let  it  not  be  he 
Whom  thou  art  sworn  to  obey. 

In  the  moral  sphere  they  point  to 
Righteousness  and  speak  of  a  moral 
imperative,  a  commanding  voice  of 
conscience  summoning  the  high  soul  to 
duty,  though  every  pleasure  die.  In  the 
social   sphere   they   raise   aloft  Justice, 

7 


'®Ke  9Jli0ht  fo 


Avhich  a  man  must  do  even  if  the  heavens 
fall.  Wrong  does  not  cease  to  be  wrong 
though  it  be  on  a  throne,  and  right  re- 
mains right  even  on  a  scaffold.  In  the 
spiritual  sphere  there  is  a  vision  of  per- 
fection, a  Kingdom  of  ends,  a  land  of 
ideals,  and  "  lovers  of  pleasure  "  seem  in 
a  lower  scale  of  being  than  "  lovers  of 
God."  The  standard  of  all  ethics  is 
within  the  soul,  and  a  man  at  his  best 
is  deaf  to  all  other  voices. 

So  deep  has  this  line  of  cleavage  run 
through  human  thought,  so  persistent 
has  been  the  rivalry  of  these  two  theo- 
ries, that  we  are  compelled  to  admit  that 
each  has  emphasised  facts  of  life.  The 
world  is  so  built  that  man  must  ask  what 
will  advance  and  secure  his  welfare.  He 
himself  is  so  constructed  that  he  cannot 
avoid  doing  what  makes  for  his  happi- 
ness. Yet  again,  every  man  has  known 
his  godlike  hours,  when  no  hope  of  gain 
or  dread  of  loss,  no  consideration  of 
expediency  could  be  credited  as  the  mo- 

8 


^appine^^s 


tive  of  a  great  act,  or  a  generous  pas- 
sion, or  a  true  sacrifice.  After  all,  there 
is  no  necessity  to  try  to  sum  up  life  in 
a  single  sentence,  or  to  put  the  end  of 
life  into  a  single  term.  Philosophy 
sooner  or  later  has  to  get  down  to  facts. 
Certainly  one  of  the  facts  is  that  the 
desire  for  happiness  is  too  deep-seated 
to  be  argued  away  by  logic.  The  yearn- 
ing for  happiness  is  one  of  nature,  and 
may  be  thwarted,  but  can  never  be  killed 
while  life  lasts.  It  needs  to  be  directed, 
not  to  be  stifled.  It  is  nature's  call  to 
larger  growth,  and  has  been  the  dynamic 
of  evolution.  Sentient  life  has  been 
led  upward  by  trusting  to  the  plain 
teaching  of  sensation,  seeking  pleasure 
and  avoiding  pain. 

No  single  mood  should  be  looked  on 
as  the  final  and  complete  answer  to  the 
meaning  of  life.  It  may  be  that  this 
answer  of  happiness  is  after  all  only  a 
single  mood.  It  is  probably  only  a  par- 
tial ideal  and  is  the  voice  of  youth  assert- 

9 


'©he  H^iqU  ia 


ing  the  truth  of  its  vivid  experience, 
rejoicing  in  the  beauty  of  the  world  and 
the  joy  of  hfe.  Even  so,  this  mood  has 
its  rights,  all  the  more  because  it  is  the 
fresh  temper  of  youth,  surely  as  likely 
to  be  true  as  the  blase  philosophy  of 
jaded  men.  The  counsel  of  Ecclesiastes, 
"  Walk  in  the  ways  of  thine  heart  and 
in  the  sight  of  thine  eyes,"  cannot  of 
course  be  adopted  as  the  rule  of  life,  but  1 1  ^  /i 
it  expresses  the  instinctive  faith  of  youth 
that  life  is  a  great  gift  and  that  the 
world  is  good.  It  undertakes  with  cour- 
age and  hope  the  adventure  of  life,  as 
the  countless  objects  of  the  world  press 
in  through  open  doors  of  sense  and 
mind,  fascinated  by  the  thought  of  what 
unknown  delights  await  in  far-off  years 
and  places.  There  is  a  sense  also  in 
which  youth  is  not  so  blind  and  heedless 
as  we  often  imagine.  It  knows  instinct- 
ively that  this  vivid  experience  does  not, 
and  will  not,  last.  The  very  brevity 
gives  a  zest  to  the  new  joy.     There  is 

10 


^appmcsis 


a  pathos  in  the  eager  grasp  of  youth 
after  ever  richer  experience,  but  that  is 
only  felt  by  those  who  know  that  no 
permanent  satisfaction  comes  that  way. 
All  forms  of  philosophy,  which  have 
made  happiness  the  end  of  life,  have  come 
sadly  to  the  conclusion  that  it  can  only 
be  attained  through  temperance  and 
moderation  and  self-control. 

This  question  of  happiness  is  funda- 
mental, and  is  in  many  forms  intensely 
modern.  To  many  the  great  problem  of 
the  education  of  the  young  is  the  prob- 
lem of  their  play ;  and  the  great  prob- 
lem of  city  life  is  that  of  the  amusement 
of  the  people.  To-day  also  with  the 
quickening  of  the  social  sense  there  are 
many  who  are  haunted  by  the  feeling 
that  they  have  no  right  to  be  happy, 
even  when  they  have  the  sources  of  hap- 
piness at  their  command,  so  long  as  there 
is  so  much  evident  misery  on  all  sides. 
More  than  ever  we  realise  that  no  man 

11 


^he  IJiishi  la 


liveth  to  himself,  and  we  know  more  of 
our  social  debt  for  even  our  commonest 
blessings.  Every  gift  we  possess  has 
come  to  us  through  society,  and  on  that 
account  there  is  a  keener  sense  of  obli- 
gation. Then,  the  more  developed  the 
finer  feelings  are,  the  more  the  doubt 
arises  whether  we  have  any  right  to  per- 
sonal joy  when  hfe  to  so  many  is  joy- 
less. The  true  way  out  of  this  trouble 
is  to  extend  the  right  into  a  duty.  True 
democracy  means  that  a  man  is  willing  to 
grant  to  others  all  that  he  claims  for 
himself.  He  refuses  to  draw  circles  of 
exclusion.  This  is  not  so  simple  as  it 
appears,  and  will  lead  to  far  results  in 
legislation  and  in  economic  conditions. 
It  is  no  less  than  the  assertion  of  the  |j  j/  ■' 
right  of  others  to  happiness. 

In  this  connection  it  may  be  said  that 
the  universe  is  too  often  viewed  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  sentimental  specta- 
tor who  gathers  up  in  imagination  all 
the  pain  of  the  world  into  a  heap.     He 

12 


^ajypmc^si 


views  it  in  the  mass,  and  sometimes  tries 
to  deal  with  the  whole  subject  as  a  ques- 
tion of  statistics.  He  tries  to  calculate 
whether  pleasure  is  in  excess  over  pain. 
Apart  from  the  fact  that  arithmetic  does 
not  apply  in  such  a  subject,  there  is  usu- 
ally a  wrong  perspective,  as  the  daily 
newspapers  give  a  wrong  perspective  by 
filling  up  columns  of  disaster.  With  a 
murder,  and  two  acts  of  violence,  and 
three  reports  of  burglary,  and  so  many 
cases  of  petty  theft,  and  the  beginning 
of  a  scandal  in  high  life,  we  forget  the 
unrecorded  millions  of  good  and  gentle 
deeds.  Beauty  is  everywhere,  and  life 
on  the  whole  is  a  great  blessing,  and  is 
full  of  joy,  simple,  natural,  healthy  joy. 
The  fact  that  men  are  willing  to  go  on 
living  is  proof  that  they  receive  on  the 
whole  sufficient  satisfaction  from  life. 
Whether  life  is  worth  living  can  never 
be  settled  by  adding  up  the  sum  of 
pleasures  and  pains  and  striking  a  hsil- 
ance.    Many  will  assent  to  the  argument 

13 


'©he  aaight  la 


in    John    Davidson's    poem    in    "  Fleet 
Street  Eclogues," 

I  think  that  I  am  still  in  Nature's  debt, 
Scorned,  disappointed,  starving,  bankrupt,  old. 
Because  I  loved  a  lady  in  my  youth. 
And  was  beloved  in  sooth. 

There  are  many  teachers  who  assert 
positions,  which  logically  lead  to  pessi- 
mism. Some  declare  that  happiness  is 
a  will-of-the-wisp  ever  deluding  the  eager 
grasp,  and  it  is  better  not  to  attempt 
the  impossible.  Others  see  life  lived  un- 
der a  leaden  sky  and  on  a  sodden  earth. 
They  agree  that  to  some,  and  under 
some  conditions,  happiness  of  a  kind 
would  be  possible,  but  it  is  so  rare  a 
chance  that  it  is  not  worth  counting  on 
ourselves  becoming  the  fortunate  ex- 
ceptions. There  is  not  enough  happi- 
ness to  go  round.  Others  assert  that 
the  sure  way  to  lose  happiness  is  to  seek 
it.  If  you  aim  at  it  at  all,  it  must  be 
indirectly.  You  may  have  it  at  the 
back  of  your  mind,  but  you  must  not 

14 


ib 


applTTC^^S 


have  your  eye  on  it.  Still  another  ob- 
jection to  the  pursuit  of  happiness  is 
that  it  is  selfish.  Yet  everybody  would 
admit  that  a  world  of  happy  human  be- 
ings is  an  ideal  worth  while.  How  is  this 
even  to  begin  to  be  possible,  if  nobody  is 
ever  to  try  to  be  happy  himself,'' 

All  these  objections  are  really  due  to 
confusion  of  terms.  To  denounce  happi- 
ness as  selfish,  for  example,  is  because  it 
is  defined  merely  in  terms  of  pleasure, 
and  pleasure  is  defined  merely  in  terms 
of  sense.  It  is  true  that  pleasure  is  built 
on  sense  and  that  happiness  is  built  on 
pleasure,  as  the  acorn  is  rooted  in  the 
soil  and  the  oak  grows  from  the  acorn. 
But  you  cannot  explain  the  oak  by  call- 
ing attention  to  the  process,  still  less  is 
the  oak  degraded  by  the  connection ;  and 
happiness  is  neither  explained  nor  de- 
graded because  of  its  natural  history 
being  traced  back  to  sense.  If  we  had 
no  feeling  of  satisfaction  there  could  be 
no    reason   for   calling   anything   good. 

15 


'©he  ISiiQhi  ia 


One  condition  would  be  as  significant  as 
another.  All  the  values  we  give  to  things 
have  their  roots  in  sensibility.  Even  the 
worth  of  things  of  intellect  lies  in  the 
special  satisfaction  these  afford.  Many 
frown  on  the  idea  of  happiness  because 
in  their  minds  it  is  associated  with  pleas- 
ure, and  pleasure  has  to  them  a  low 
sound.  It  stands  for  the  ruthless  grati- 
fication of  selfish  impulses.  This  is  the 
easy  method  of  giving  a  dog  a  bad 
name  and  then  hanging  him. 

The  quarrel,  as  often  happens,  is 
largely  one  about  words.  We  are 
tempted  to  waste  on  philosophy  what 
might  be  given  to  mankind.  Life  is  more 
than  meat,  and  it  is  also .  more  than 
theory.  It  may  be  obvious  that  this 
world  has  not  been  made  merely  for  the 
ease  and  happiness  of  men,  and  obvious 
that  we  are  not  made  to  inhabit  an 
earthly  paradise,  but  the  human  heart 
can  never  cease  to  long  for  satisfaction 
of  desire.    This  primal  need  has  been  the 

16 


ib 


appine;55i 


driving  power  to  transform  society  and 
to  improve  the  conditions  of  life.  Even 
when  men  miss  happiness  as  an  experi- 
ence, they  feel  they  were  made  for  it. 
The  capacity  for  joy,  which  is  their 
natural  human  instinct,  demands  frui- 
tion. To  ask  them  to  abandon  the  quest 
for  happiness  and  to  acknowledge  it  a 
phantom  would  be  to  make  a  mock  of 
life. 

When  we  ask  if  we  have  the  right  to 
be  happy,  the  true  answer  is  got  by  ask- 
ing another  question,  whether  the  facts 
of  our  nature  permit  it.  We  have  the 
right  to  be  what  we  can  be.  The  trouble 
with  the  theory  that  makes  happiness 
the  end  of  life  is  not  that  it  is  false,  but 
that  it  does  not  carry  us  anywhere  till 
we  know  in  what  happiness  consists.  If 
we  ceased  to  fight  about  words,  the  one 
word  happiness  might  be  accepted  by 
both  sides  in  the  immemorial  dispute, 
if  only  the  word  were  defined  in  a  large 

17 


'©he  ISa^hl  la 


enough  sense  to  include  all  the  facts  of 
human  experience.  Certainly,  no  theory 
of  ethics  can  be  right  which  leaves  hap- 
piness out.  There  is  danger  on  either 
side,  but  danger  ever  companies  with 
life.  On  the  one  side  an  emphasis  on 
pleasure  scatters  life  in  frivolity,  or 
swamps  it  in  grossness.  On  the  other 
side  to  deny  a  place  for  pleasure  is  to 
attempt  the  impossible.  If  the  theory 
which  makes  happiness  the  "  being's  end 
and  aim  "  comes  to  grief,  it  is  equally 
true  that  the  theory  which  leaves  happi- 
ness out  comes  to  grief.  It  sins  against 
human  nature,  and  either  leaves  life  dry 
and  barren,  or  drives  it  into  revolt. 
Each  new  soul  that  enters  the  world 
claims  its  share  of  its  birthright  of  joy. 
To  leave  out  happiness  from  the 
moral  ideal  means  to  an  earnest  man  as- 
ceticism of  the  worst  sort.  It  means 
pain  for  its  own  sake,  a  different  thing 
from  self-discipline  which  may  willingly 
undergo  pain  for  the  sake  of  a  larger 

18 


.5bajrpinc5i5i 


good  to  self  or  others.  From  the  denial 
of  happiness  as  a  good,  it  is  only  a  step 
to  view  pain  as  itself  a  good,  and  many 
religious  teachers  come  perilously  near 
taking  that  step.  Fenelon  begins  a 
letter  to  Madame  de  Maintenon,  "  I 
was  told  yesterday  evening,  madame, 
that  you  are  suffering  very  much  from 
tooth-ache.  God  be  praised  for  it;  He 
afflicts  those  whom  he  loves.  Pain  is  the 
heritage  of  His  good  children,  and  I  am 
rejoiced  that  you  are  one  of  them. 
They  are  at  peace  in  the  midst  of  pain, 
and  they  are  happy  in  suffering,  whilst 
the  world  is  really  miserable  in  its  joys." 
Any  theory  which  leaves  out  happiness 
as  an  essential  part  of  its  end  leads  to 
a  false  and  strained  morbidness,  and 
sometimes  even  is  a  menace  to  the  best 
things  in  human  life.  It  would  open  the 
door  to  cruelty  the  most  inhuman  in  the 
supposed  interests   of  dogma. 

It  is  a  calamity  when  religion  is  looked 
on  as  the  foe  of  human  happiness,  even 

19 


!^rv   trTn 


IL^ 


mhc  QUiaht  ia 


though  it  is  meant  in  the  interests  of  a 
higher  happiness.  Too  often  men  have 
tried  to  shut  the  door  of  the  world's 
beauty  and  truth  and  joy,  as  if  these 
were  evil  in  themselves.  Heine  tells  the 
story  of  the  nightingale  of  Basle  which 
illustrates  a  common  enough  thought. 
One  day  in  May  1443  at  the  time  of  the 
Council  of  Basle  a  company  of  prelates 
and  monks  were  walking  in  a  wood  near 
the  to\\ni.  They  were  disputing  about 
theological  controversies,  but  suddenly 
they  became  silent  and  remained  as  if 

/il  rooted  to  the  spot  before  a  blossoming 

lime-tree,  wherein  sat  a  nightingale  car- 
rolling  and  sobbing  forth  her  tenderest 
and  sweetest  melodies.  These  learned 
men  began  to  feel  in  a  strangely  blessed 
mood,  as  the  warm  spring  notes  of  the 
bird  penetrated  their  scholastic  and  mo- 
nastic hearts.     But  at  last  one  of  them 

^  shrewdly  remarked  that  herein  must  be 

some  wile  of  the  devil,  seeking  to  divert 
them  by  its  seductive  strains  from  their 

20 


^appmcsis 


Christian  conversation.  He  proceeded 
to  exorcise  the  evil  spirit,  and  it  is  said 
that  the  bird  rephed,  "  Yes,  I  am  an  evil 
spirit,"  and  flew  away  laughing.  Those, 
however,  who  had  listened  to  its  song  fell 
sick  that  same  day  and  died  shortly 
thereafter ! 

In  our  deepest  thinking  we  usually 
underestimate  the  place  and  value  of 
joy  in  life.  Even  in  the  matter  of  tem- 
perament, we  are  inclined  to  think  that 
the  bright  and  sunny  nature  must  be 
shallow,  and  that  the  melancholy  temper- 
ament is  more  likely  to  be  the  deepest 
and  greatest.  It  is  a  prejudice  which 
has  been  fastened  on  our  mind  by  much 
writing  about  certain  attributes  of 
genius,  of  a  piece  with  the  modem  theory 
that  genius  is  a  sort  of  affection  of  the 
nerves  and  is  therefore  closely  allied  with 
insanity.  It  is  stated  in  many  books 
that  most  men  of  real  and  indisputable 
genius  have  been  melancholy.    Well,  the 

21 


'©he  K^ishi  ia 


standard  of  natural  genius  for  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking world  is  Shakespeare,  ab- 
solutely sane,  absolutely  healthy,  with 
no  mawkishness  of  feeling  so  common  in 
pinchbeck  genius,  of  cheerful  tempera- 
ment, and  a  bright  sunny  view  of  life. 
It  is  really  confusion  of  thought  which 
is  responsible  for  the  opposite  opinion. 
We  assume  that  if  Shakespeare,  or  any 
other,  sees  below  the  surface  of  things, 
and  recognises  the  tragedy  of  life  and 
all  the  sin  and  sorrow  of  men,  there- 
fore his  temperament  must  be  melan- 
choly. Schiller's  judgment  is  a  pro- 
found one  and  a  true  one,  "A  gay  serene 
spirit  is  the  source  of  all  that  is  noblest 
and  good.  Whatever  is  accomplished 
of  the  greatest  and  noblest  sort  flows 
from  such  a  disposition.  Petty  gloomy 
souls,  that  only  mourn  the  past  and 
dread  the  future,  are  not  capable  of 
seizing  on  the  holiest  moments  of  life." 
The  affectation  of  sentiment  and  the 
spurious  pathos,  so  easy  to  do  and  so 

22 


1 


^appirxcsis 


common  in  our  literature,  have  made  it 
easy  for  us  to  believe  the  opposite  of 
Schiller's  judgment. 

Further,  our  common  view  of  religion 
has  greatly  helped  in  the  growth  of  the 
error.  Is  it  not  spoken  of  in  many 
quarters  as  the  sorrowful  way,  and  the 
melancholy  inn,  and  the  like.'^  The 
Christian  faith  even  has  been  succinctly 
defined  by  a  great  master  of  literature 
as  "  the  worship  of  sorrow."  We  know 
the  element  of  profound  truth  in  this 
exaggeration,  as  we  know  that  in  every 
deep  soul  probably  sorrow  of  some  kind 
has  had  much  to  do  with  its  making; 
but  it  is  to  put  the  emphasis  on  the  wrong 
thing  when  we  disparage  joy  and  exalt 
mere  sorrow  as  a  sign  of  either  greatness 
or  goodness.  It  is  not  even  an  infallible 
instrument  of  grace.  It  can  come  to  a 
life  and  leave  it  poorer  than  before.  It 
can  come  to  a  heart  and  leave  it  only 
the  harder.  It  can  engulf  a  mind,  and 
only  take  from  it  its  strength;  whereas 

23 


"^he  ISiishi  ia 


.-»- 


\ 


joy  may  be  a  source  of  insight,  and  a 
secret  of  wisdom,  and  a  fountain  of 
strength.  ]Mere  sorrow,  the  sorrow  of 
the  world,  is  a  narrowing,  weakening 
thing.  It  dams  back  the  natural  forces. 
It  shuts  a  man  up  within  himself.  It 
gives  a  jaundiced  eye  which  sees  the 
world  clothed  in  drab,  making  nothing 
worth  striving  for,  nothing  worth  living 
for.  It  robs  the  soul  of  its  native  force, 
killing  aspiration  as  the  rain  puts  out 
the  kindling  beacon.  We  need  to  free 
our  mind  from  cant  here  also.  There 
is  a  shallow  cheerfulness,  but  there  is 
also  a  shallow  melancholy.  We  speak 
glibly  of  the  refining  fire  of  sorrow,  but 
in  itself  it  is  only  a  fire  that  can  consume 
as  well  as  refine.  It  altogether  depends 
on  the  way  it  is  received,  the  spirit  in 
which  it  is  met,  and  that  can  be  said  of 
every  other  experience  in  life. 

Our  common  talk  is  even  an  injustice 
to  God,  and  a  libel  on  His  character,  as 
if  all  natural  joy  were  but  lures  of  the 
/k,  24 


^appincs^ 


devil,  and  only  grief  were  a  divine  mes- 
senger. The  companions  of  the  sorrow- 
ful way  may  have  much  to  teach  us  ;  but 
when  we  walk  with  them  we  may  be 
looking  only  at  the  stones  among  our 
feet  and  never  at  the  blue  sky  above  us. 
We  may  learn  much  at  the  melancholy 
inn,  but  the  company  there  may  be 
pretty  poor  after  all,  as  at  any  other 
inn.  Rather,  we  should  realise  that  joy 
is  strength.  It  is  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciple of  life,  and  the  condition  of  growth. 
It  is  the  expansive  enlarging  force,  as 
sorrow  is  the  narrowing,  weakening 
force.  We  only  need  to  look  at  the  child 
opening  out  in  every  power  through  the 
joy  of  youth,  as  the  flowers  open  out  in 
the  sunshine.  Great  work  is  done  with 
something  of  the  spontaneity  and  ex- 
pansion of  joy,  done  because  it  is  a  de- 
light to  do  it.  Sorrow  rightly  used  may 
often  give  insight,  forcing  the  mind  to 
think  and  the  eye  to  see;  just  as  disease 
may   read  us   many   a   lesson.      At   the 

25 


'©he  ^^iqU  la 


same  time  joy  is  the  normal,  as  health 
is  the  normal,  and  life  all  disease  would 
only  be  death.  Is  there  no  opportunity 
for  a  keener  insight  through  the  uplift- 
ing exulting  power  of  happiness  ?  With 
the  "  deep  power  of  joy,"  said  Words- 
worth, "  we  see  into  the  heart  of  things." 
Should  this  not  be  true,  if  there  is  at  the 
heart  of  things,  as  we  believe,  perfect 
life,  perfect  joy,  perfect  love.'' 

This  message  of  the  right  to  happi- 
ness is  one  still  needed  to-day.  There 
remains  much  of  the  Pagan  idea  that 
joy  only  comes  to  us  with  a  grudge. 
We  are  almost  afraid  to  be  happy,  and 
we  accept  some  of  life's  best  blessings 
tremblingly.  We  say  that  good  news  is 
too  good  to  be  true,  and  when  it  comes 
true  we  assert  that  it  is  too  good  to  last. 
"  I  was  too  happy  "  one  will  say,  "  and 
I  knew  I  would  have  to  pay  for  it." 
The  truest  joys  of  life  are  accepted  with 
foreboding,  and  the  implication  is  that 

26 


^appmcsis 


God  grudges  happiness  to  His  children. 
It  needs  to  be  said  that  to  the  Christian 
joy  should  be  the  habit  of  his  mind,  the 
temper  of  his  faith.  Sorrows  come  and 
will  come,  but  faith  is  not  made  perfect 
till  they  are  dri^-en  out  by  the  strong 
hand  of  joy.  The  one  and  only  cure  for 
sorrow  is  joy.  Anything  else  is  a  half- 
cure  at  the  best;  resignation  is  only  a 
palliative.  If  we  are  to-day  doubting 
and  timid,  anxious  about  the  present 
and  fearful  about  the  future,  is  it  not 
because  we  have  not  accepted  the  full 
consequences  of  our  faith,  have  not 
plucked  the   rich  fniits   of  believing .'' 

Also,  it  is  a  misfortune,  to  say  the 
least,  that  the  young  should  have  so 
much  cause  to  imagine  that  religion 
means  gloom  and  darkness,  instead  of 
joy  and  light.  Dr.  Johnson  compared 
the  sour  narrowness  of  some  men  to  the 
neck  of  a  vinegar  bottle.  We  know  with 
what  measure  of  truth  the  comparison 
can  be  applied  to  some  forms  of  religion. 

27 


^ctpjrinc^^ 


It  is  a  calamity  when  the  good  news 
should  be  perverted  in  what  is  its  essen- 
tial features.  Instead  of  being  narrow 
and  dismal,  religion  is  the  biggest  and 
brightest  thing  that  can  come  into  a 
man's  life,  transforming  every  power 
and  inspiring  every  energy,  bathing  it 
in  peace  and  flooding  it  with  joy. 


28 


'Si^uig  of  ^ctppirrcissi 


J 


There  is  an  idea  abroad  among  moral 
people  that  they  should  make  their  neigh- 
bours good.  One  person  I  have  to  make 
good:  myself.  But  my  duty  to  my  neigh- 
bour is  much  more  nearly  expressed  by  say- 
ing that  I  have  to  make  him  happy  —  if  I 
may.  R.  L.  Stevenson. 


/b,r 


^        ^. 


cv^ 


"©Kc  "^ui^  of 


IF  we  can  be  said  with  any  truth  to 
possess  a  right  to  happiness,  the 
right  can  be  stated  as  a  duty.  It  is 
even  a  duty  to  self.  The  mere  exercise 
and  cultivation  of  any  faculty  is  a  source 
of  pleasure,  and  such  cultivation  is  surely 
also  a  duty,  unless  it  conflicts  with  some 
still  higher  duty.  Society  punishes  wil- 
ful self-mutilation,  and  looks  on  suicide 
as  a  crime.  We  pity  the  man  who  is  his 
own  worst  enemy,  as  the  saying  goes, 
who  throws  away  his  chance  for  a  happy 
life  and  does  violence  to  his  own  bless- 
ings. Some  people  suck  pleasure  from 
melancholy,  as  some  "enjoy"  poor 
health.  It  is  even  a  common  notion 
that  duty  is  precisely  what  we  do  not 
like.  If  there  is  any  doubt,  the  safe 
rule  is  to  find  out  what  will  be  pleas- 

31 


^hc  "^vA:^  of 


ant,  and  do  the  opposite !  It  does 
often  happen  that  duty  asks  for  sacri- 
fice and  demands  the  hard  thing  rather 
than  the  easy  one,  but  to  make  pain  a 
test  of  duty  is  to  turn  the  world  topsy- 
turvy. 

Much  sickly  sentiment  has  passed  for 
wisdom  and  passed  for  religion,  as  if 
life  was  only  a  vale  of  tears,  and  man 
was  made  to  mourn,  and  the  world  was 
but  a  scene  of  woe.  In  such  a  universe 
it  would  be  a  duty  to  be  unhappy,  even 
if  by  a  freak  of  fortune  it  were  possible 
to  avoid  the  regular  lot.  Disease  and 
sorrow  exist,  but  health  is  the  normal, 
and  joy  is  the  natural,  and  it  is  a  privi- 
lege to  live.  Problems  abound,  but  the 
manly  and  healthy  view  is  that  they 
exist  to  be  bravely  faced,  and  if  pos- 
sible solved.  The  world  with  all  its 
mystery  spells  opportunity.  It  means 
opportunity  to  be,  as  well  as  to  do ;  and 
opportunity  for  the  personal  life  as  well 
as  for  the  general. 

32 


,N 


il  I  J 


^ctppincsis 


The  duty  of  happiness  becomes  clearer 
when  we  see  how  it  affects  others.  It  is 
the  merry  heart  that  makes  the  cheer- 
ful countenance,  and  it  is  the  cheerful 
countenance  that  spreads  cheer  to 
make  other  hearts  merry.  The  sunny 
soul  brings  sunshine  everywhere.  A 
bright  and  happy  temperament  is  a 
great  social  asset,  adding  to  the  happi- 
ness of  the  world.  There  is  a  prejudice, 
much  encouraged  by  solemn  wiseacres, 
that  gravity  of  demeanour  must  betoken 
wisdom,  and  that  a  genial  and  sprightly 
manner  is  an  offence.  "  Let 's  be  grave, 
here  comes  a  fool,"  said  a  wise  man, 
knowing  that  the  fool  would  misunder- 
stand brightness  for  levit}'.  One  has 
known  a  man  who  pulled  his  brows  with 
the  weight  of  thought,  till  one  felt  sure 
that  no  man  could  really  be  as  wise  as  he 
looked.  He  overacted  the  part.  To 
most  of  us  cheerfulness  is  wonderfully 
attractive  and  invigorating.  Some 
people   bring   with   them   a   balmy    and 

33 


^Kc  "^ul^  of 


gracious  air,  which  gives  to  others  a 
sense  of  ampler  skies.  We  have  even 
known  a  gracious  old  age,  with  the 
blitheness  and  cheerful  peace  of  one  who 
has  kept  his  youth. 

Life  has  its  dreary  days,  its  depress- 
ing hours,  when  the  spirits  flag.  It 
looks  as  if  the  sky  would  never  clear, 
as  if  gaiety  were  a  lost  mood.  A  brave 
and  cheering  soul  carries  a  magic,  that 
seems  to  dispel  the  gloom  and  make  the 
sun  to  shine.  Such  an  one  comes  into  a 
dispirited  company  like  a  breath  from  a 
wide  moor  or  the  heather  hills,  and  in- 
stantly dejection  is  charmed  away.  The 
dreary  tone  departs,  and  each  can  take 
up  his  burden  again  with  a  light  heart. 
A  cheerful  friend  makes  us  forget  cares, 
and  worries,  and  anxieties,  and  disap- 
pointments ;  and  the  reprieve  rests  us 
and  strengthens  us.  We  take  a 
brighter  view  of  life.  We  lose  the  sense 
of  strain,  and  a  new  courage  restores 
the  soul.     There  are  some  who  have  the 

34 


^ctppirtcisi^ 


gift  of  putting  moral  oxygen  into  the 
atmosphere,  so  that  all  can  breathe  more 
freely. 

We  habitually  underestimate  these 
buoyant  and  vivacious  souls,  who  do  so 
much  to  brighten  the  lot  of  their  friends. 
We  often  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  sometimes  do  not  realise  how  they 
warmed,  and  cheered,  and  comforted  us, 
till  it  is  too  late  to  acknowledge  our 
debt.  The  best  way  to  acknowledge  it 
is  to  turn  it  into  a  duty  for  ourselves,^ 
and  to  take  our  share  in  the  task.  We 
too  can  learn  to  be  a  little  less  morose, 
and  grudging,  and  selfish.  We  say  that 
our  friend's  gift  is  merely  a  matter  of 
temperament,  and  we  do  not  think  that 
his  courage  and  brightness  may  need  an 
effort  from  him  sometimes.  We  welcome 
his  cheerful  spirit,  but  it  may  cover  an 
inner  weariness.  His  smile  may  be  hid- 
ing his  own  depression.  Why  should 
not  we  too  join  the  goodly  company  of 
the  encouragers .''     Why  should  not  we 

35 


"©he  3uig  of 


learn  a  little  of  the  large  tolerance  and 
the  blithe  courage  and  the  genial  out- 
look, which  would  contribute  to  the  joy 
of  others? 

This  temper,  whether  natural  or  cul- 
tivated, does  much  to  ensure  the  best 
kind  of  success.  Happiness  is  a  real 
power  in  the  world,  and  often  is  the 
secret  of  influence.  All  great  doctors 
seem  to  possess  the  gift  of  communicat- 
ing hope  and  courage  to  their  patients. 
Everyone  with  any  knowledge  of  human 
nature  knows  that  faith  and  cheerfulness 
and  courage  are  powerful  agents  in  re- 
storing and  maintaining  even  bodily 
health.  To  revive  the  will  to  live  is 
sometimes  half  the  battle,  especially  in 
all  nervous  disorders.  The  genial  na- 
ture, which  we  often  associate  with  a 
kind  of  weakness,  is  really  a  mark  of 
strength.  It  means  that  a  new  quality 
has  been  driven  into  every  activity  of 
life.  It  is  allied  to  the  broad  tolerance, 
which  may  be  the  last  triumph  of  the 

36 


^appmcsisi 


victorious  soul.  It  is  the  fruit  of  the 
deep  insight  which  makes  a  man  tender 
with  those  who  have  fallen  on  life's 
battlefield,  or  who  are  in  danger  of  fall- 
ing. We  see  enough  to  know  that  we 
do  not  see  all  the  conflict  through  which 
each  soul  passes,  and  all  the  burden  it 
has  carried. 

We  must  learn,  however,  not  to  limit 
this  duty  of  happiness  to  the  little  inner 
circle.  The  great  lesson  of  life  is  co- 
ordination and  co-operation  —  all  that 
we  mean  by  citizenship.  The  duty  of 
happiness  means  the  insistence  of  the 
same  rights  for  others  that  we  claim 
for  ourselves.  All  the  more  if  a  man 
makes  happiness  the  key  to  the  meaning 
of  life  is  he  bound  to  accept  this  duty ; 
for  life  is  not  lived  alone,  one  by  one, 
but  is  a  social  affair.  He  cannot  live  to 
himself  if  he  tried ;  and  so  the  acceptance 
of  this  fact  carries  with  it  an  implica- 
tion, if  not  an  obligation.     Even  self- 

37 


J//  f  55  7 


"©he  "^ul^  of 


■t» 


interest  demands  the  creation  of  a  world, 
which  will  not  be  a  constant  check  to 
happiness  by  sights  and  sounds  of  mis- 
ery. It  cannot  add  to  the  comfort  of 
Dives,  though  clothed  in  fine  linen  and 
faring  sumptuously  every  day,  if  the 
beggar  Lazarus  is  at  his  door  hungry, 
unkempt,  with  the  dogs  licking  his  sores. 
There  is  surely  on  any  ethics  a  duty  to 
one's    self   to    aid   in    the   happiness    of  ^\   J 

others. 

Just  as  a  man  discovers  that  he 
owes  most  of  his  happiness  to  others, 
he  discovers  also  that  there  is  a  new 
and  sweeter  pleasure  in  paying  back 
some  of  his  social  debt.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  experience,  unselfishness  reaps 
a  reward  in  the  satisfaction  of  the  i[ 
higher  feelings.  Conversely,  a  self- 
ish action  brings  a  sense  of  being  out  of 
relation  with  life.  We  have  played  a 
traitor's  part.  It  may  seem  only  natu- 
ral to  a  man  that  he  should  seek  the 
happiness  of  those  nearest  him,  kith  and 

38 


^ctpjrmcsfli 


kin,  wife,  and  children,  and  friends.  It 
will  become  more  and  more  natural  for 
him  to  draw  bigger  circles,  and  desire 
the  welfare  of  his  village  or  town  or  city, 
the  welfare  of  other  little  children  be- 
sides his  own,  the  group  of  his  o^ti 
workmen  perhaps,  the  safety  and  pros- 
perity of  the  nation,  happiness  and 
peace  for  other  nations  —  until  he  feels  hi  \k  J 
the  great  tide  of  the  world's  life.     Char-     ' '  ' 

ity  may  begin  at  home,  but  it  cannot 
end  there.  The  love,  which  seeks  to 
live  only  for  itself,  begins  to  die  at  the 
heart. 

The  ordinary  man  does  not  need  to 
be  convinced  that  his  own  happiness 
depends  largely  on  the  happiness  of  his 
own  home  circle,  and  is  willing  to  ac- 
knowledge that  there  lies  for  him  much 
of  the  ideal  of  his  life  as  well  as  his 
duty.  The  object  of  his  thought  and 
work  has  already  ceased  to  be  selfish, 
and  he  assents  to  Robert  Burns'  noble 
lines : 

39 


"©he  3uiB  of 


To  make  a  happy  fireside  clime 

For  weans  and  wife 
Is  the  true  pathos  and  sublime 

Of  human  life. 

But  the  ordinary  man  needs  to  broaden 
his  sense  of  duty,  and  to  see  obligation 
and  opportunity  in  the  wider  relations. 
This  duty  of  happiness  will  have  its 
bearing  in  politics  both  civic  and  na- 
tional. He  will  share  in  every  effort  to 
make  conditions  sweet  and  wholesome, 
in  which  men  can  live  a  reasonable  and 
happy  life,  enjoying  the  same  blessings 
he  seeks  for  himself,  the  fruits  of  work 
and  leisure  and  social  intercourse.  He 
will  take  his  part  both  in  creating  pub- 
lic opinion  and  in  enforcing  it  concern- 
ing conditions  of  industry,  to  banish  the 
nameless  evils  of  the  modem  city.  He 
will  even  look  wider  and  further  afield 
in  international  politics  to  work  for  the 
amity  of  nations.  Whatever  our  theory 
of  life  be,  we  cannot  avoid  the  conclu- 
sion that  if  it  could  be  proved  that  the 

40 


'Sbctpfiina&i^ 


average  man  is  unhappy  and  suffers 
misery  in  work  and  life,  it  is  an  indict- 
ment on  that  society,  and  is  a  proof  of 
its  failure. 

Practically  all  are  agreed  that  we 
ought  to  give  what  contribution  we  can 
to  the  world,  and  that  we  should  take 
our  share  in  the  task  of  adding  to  the 
happiness  of  other  men.  This  is  accepted 
even  by  some  who  will  not  admit  that 
we  have  any  right  to  be  happy  ourselves. 
That  position  is  due  to  repulsion  from 
the  doctrine  that  pleasure  is  the  end  of 
human  life,  and  the  only  object  of  man 
is  to  be  happy.  It  is  also  partly  due 
to  a  discovery  made  long  ago  that  the 
way  to  miss  permanent  happiness  was  to 
seek  it  with  avidity.  In  some  mysteri- 
ous manner  the  goal  eluded  the  pursu- 
ing feet.  The  most  bored  of  men  were 
seen  to  be  those  who  sought  pleasure 
with  a  single  eye.  So  the  doctrine  of 
happiness    was    amended    to    mean    the 

41 


\ 


'StKc  3uig  of 


greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number. 
Personal  happiness,  it  was  claimed, 
would  be  the  result  of  seeking  the  happi- 
ness of  others.  It  would  come  as  a  by- 
product. Without  criticising  this  posi- 
tion, the  point  here  made  is  that  even 
on  that  philosophy  men  are  compelled 
to  fall  into  line  with  what  we  have  called 
the  duty  of  happiness. 

It  does  not  mean  that  we  are  to  give 
ourselves    to    personal    happiness,    and 
then  try  to  give  it  to  others.     Happiness 
is  not   something  that  can  be   accumu- 
il\  lated  as  wealth  can  be  and  represented 

in  a  store  of  solid  coin.  One  of  the  sure 
methods  of  being  happy  is  by  a  frank 
and  open  intercourse  with  other  life. 
If  we  seek  our  own  things  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  the  things  of  others,  we  will  lose 
even  our  own.  If  we  separate  our- 
selves in  any  way  from  the  social  life, 
refusing  for  the  time  sympathy  and 
interest,  we  lose  the  truest  and  sweetest 
joys.     To  seek  to  make  others  happy 

42 


!i  r  J 


>> 


^ajrpinc^s 


is  one  of  the  ways  of  happiness  for  one- 
self. The  purest  joy  of  life  comes 
through  society,  and  can  never  be  at- 
tained alone.  To  taste  the  happiness 
of  duty  is  one  of  the  ways  to  equip  one- 
self for  the  duty  of  happiness. 

It    does    not    make    much    difference 
whether  a  man  holds  the  theory  that  life 
V     J  I  is  governed  by  self-interest,  if  he  prac- 

tically defines  it  so  as  to  include  the 
whole  sphere  of  morality  demanded  by 
social  living,  if  he  is  a  good  son  and 
husband  and  father,  if  he  is  fair  minded 
and  large  hearted  in  all  the  natural  re- 
lations, if  he  finds  pleasure  in  civic  and 
national  duty.  He  is  really  under  laws 
wider  than  any  law  of  selfishness.  There 
are  times  when  he  acts  without  thought 
of  self,  when  he  is  satisfying  pi'ofounder 
instincts  than  that  of  self-preservation. 
When  the  fireman  risks  life  to  save  a 
child  from  a  burning  house,  we  mis- 
judge human  nature  if  we  try  to  explain 
its  heroism  as  due  to  a  desire  for  praise 

43 


ItKc  3u{g  of 


or  recognition  or  reward.  There  are 
elemental  depths  which  cannot  be  fath- 
omed by  our  little  measuring  lines. 
Above  all  struggles  for  the  life  of  self, 
there  is  a  struggle  for  the  life  of  others. 
Some  systems  speak  of  man  in  terms 
of  mechanics  as  if  he  were  a  sort  of  ma- 
chine, which  if  you  pull  the  same  lever 
will  always  do  the  same  thing.  Political 
economy  speaks  of  the  economic  man  as 
invariably  doing  certain  things  in  con- 
nection with  rigid  laws  of  supply  and 
demand,  always  buying  in  the  cheap 
market  and  selling  in  the  dear.  No  such 
men  exist,  or  ever  have  existed.  There 
is  red  blood  in  men's  veins,  and  at  times 
all  calculations  are  knocked  out.  There 
is  always  the  personal  equation  when 
we  are  dealing  with  human  life.  For 
this  reason  there  is  always  room  for 
ideals. 

As  a  fact  of  observation  and  experi- 
ence we  everywhere  find,  besides  the  com- 

44 


^Sbajrpmcss 


mon  selfish  motive,  a  social  motive  at 
work.  They  are  not  essentially  op- 
posed; for  we  can  say  that  the  one 
leads  to  the  other,  and  also  finds  its 
highest  fruition  in  the  other.  The  selfish 
motive  with  which  life  begins,  as  seen  in 
animal  and  child,  is  found  in  man  melt- 
ing into  a  larger  motive.  What  has 
been  called  enlightened  selfishness  dis- 
covers that  it  cannot  fulfil  itself  except 
as  it  ministers  to  the  common  social 
good.  It  is  more  than  a  play  on  words 
to  say  that  wealth  is  only  made  possible 
by  the  commonwealth.  Even  business, 
which  is  often  frankly  described  as 
purely  selfish,  is  the  creation  of  social 
instinct.  Trade  is  for  mutual  advan- 
tage, and  serves  social  ends.  It  would 
be  impossible  in  a  world  of  rogues, 
where  no  sort  of  good  faith  was  prac- 
tised. In  spite  of  ourselves  we  are 
forced  to  minister  to  some  extent  to 
the  welfare  of  others,  but  if  this  ideal 
were    consciously    accepted   as    a    duty, 

45 


^hc  "^ul^  of 


the    end   would   be    gained   much    more 
rapidly. 

Our  rights  are  conditioned  by  duties. 
The  individual  right  is  always  limited 
by  the  rights  of  others.  Have  I  not  a 
right  to  do  what  I  like  with  my  own? 
Well,  it  depends  on  what  you  like  and 
what  you  want  to  do.  In  civilised  life 
both  rights  and  duties  are  complicated 
by  our  increasingly  complex  society. 
A  right  which  injures  others  should  not 
be  enforced,  and  should  not  even  be  de- 
manded. Any  man's  right  to  the  pur- 
suit of  happiness  must  be  curbed,  if  it 
is  contrary  to  the  common  good.  If  the 
chief  source  of  happiness  comes  from  the 
social  life  and  from  true  relation  with 
others,  it  follows  that  a  man  loses  his 
best  joy  if  his  conduct  injures  others. 
To  refuse  the  duty  implied  here  is  to 
destroy  his  own  right  to  happiness. 

The  real  controversies  before  the 
world    to-day    are   not    speculative   but 


jSi)ix:p:pirxe^iu> 


practical,  —  questions  of  social  duty 
rather  than  questions  of  abstract  truth. 
Of  course,  lying  back  of  all  practical 
problems  are  ultimate  views  of  life  and 
of  human  nature,  and  every  proposed 
practical  solution  implies  a  speculative 
position.  But  our  chief  difficulties  have 
to  do  with  social  duty,  problems  of  cap- 
ital and  labour,  of  economic  conditions, 
of  poverty  and  wealth,  of  the  relation 
of  classes  and  races  and  nations.  What 
ideals  ought  we  to  place  before  us.^* 
Wherein  would  consist  the  truest  and 
best  human  life  for  a  community?  How 
can  we  build  the  City  of  God  for  our 
own  age  and  our  place  in  the  world's 
history?  Whatever  practical  plans  may 
be  tried,  they  will  be  along  the  line  of 
increasing  the  happiness  of  the  whole 
people  and  making  life  more  tolerable. 
This  is  accepted  on  all  hands  as  at  least 
part  of  the  ideal.  All  forms  of  govern- 
ment assert  that  one  purpose  is  to  ex- 
tend and  preserve  the  welfare  of  those 

47 


"Sthc  3u{g  of 


governed,  to  give  protection  and  safety, 
and  to  promote  the  general  happiness. 
For  a  brotherhood  of  men  worth  the 
name  there  will  always  be  needed  the 
virtues  and  graces  and  loving  nature, 
which  the  word  brother  at  its  best  has 
come  to  mean. 

We  think  of  social  duty  as  ambitious 
schemes  for  affecting  life  in  the  mass. 
If  a  man  cannot  reconstruct  society,  he 
is  inclined  to  imagine  that  nothing  is 
expected  or  demanded  of  him.  There 
are  theoretical  socialists  who  do  not  lift 
a  little  finger  in  the  smaller  oppor- 
tunities for  service.  Surely  conditions 
can  meanwhile  be  amehorated,  and  life 
can  be  made  easier  for  some.  Everyone 
can  begin  somewhere,  and  to  the  ordi- 
nary person  the  first  task  is  to  bring  some 
light  and  joy  to  a  small  circle.  Many 
refuse  their  natural  field  of  usefulness 
because  it  seems  too  narrow.  If,  as 
Chalmers  said,  the  grand  essentials  of 
happiness  are  something  to  do,  some- 

48 


^appincsis 


thing  to  love,  and  something  to  hope  for, 
there  is  no  lot  so  confined  and  no  corner 
of  life  so  cramped  that  these  oppor- 
tunities cannot  be  found.  All  have  it 
in  their  power  to  add  brightness  and  joy 
to  the  lives  of  some. 

A  common  objection  is  that  true  life 
is  from  within,  that  if  man  were  better 
the  environment  would  be  better,  that  it 
is  useless  to  work  from  the  outside,  and 
that  even  in  the  matter  of  happiness 
one  man's  meat  is  another  man's  poison. 
So  we  are  told  that  the  poor  are  happier 
in  slums  than  they  would  be  in  palaces, 
and  that  they  prefer  dirt  to  cleanliness. 
In  the  face  of  every  proposal  to  decrease 
misery  and  improve  conditions,  we  are 
advised  that  on  the  whole  it  is  better 
to  do  nothing.  It  is  fatalism  of  the 
worst  kind,  besides  being  a  display  of 
arrogance.  It  is  said  of  Frederick  the 
Great  that  when  an  eager  supporter  of 
the  popular  doctrine  of  the  time  spoke 

49 


"^he  "^ul^  of 


enthusiastically  of  what  education  would 
do  if  we  accepted  the  assumption  of  the 
goodness  of  the  human  race,  he  replied, 
"  You  don't  know  the  race." 

Many  with  less  excuse  take  the  same 
imperial  tone.  They  speak  as  if  they 
themselves  belonged  to  another  race, 
with  other  and  finer  qualities.  They  are 
made  of  a  different  clay !  They  forget 
that  they  were  digged  from  the  same 
pit,  and  hewn  from  the  same  rock.  In 
their  minds  the  people  exist  merely  to 
be  ruled,  and  governed,  and  policed,  and 
/;!  now  and  again  used  as  food  for  powder 

in  war,  or  as  pawns  in  a  game  of  com- 
merce. As  a  matter  of  fact  the  whole 
superior  attitude  is  an  argument  in 
favour  of  the  value  of  environment,  and 
education,  and  opportunity,  and  what 
are  called   the   advantages   of  life.      If  4 

these  things  can  do  so  much  for  them 
that  they  can  feel  as  if  they  belonged  to 
another  race,  why  should  the  same 
things  not  do  as  much  for  others  .f*     If 

50 


\ 


V 


J 


^appinc^Si/Si 


congenial  work,  and  leisure,  and  art, 
and  knowledge  can  set  them  on  such  a 
pinnacle,  will  not  the  same  uplifting 
forces  be  as  powerful  with  others?  It  is 
arrogance  of  the  worst  sort  when  from 
the  seats  of  privilege  comes  the  objec- 
tion, "  You  don't  know  the  race,"  made 
to  every  hopeful  effort  to  lighten  the 
lives  spent  in  misery  and  joylessness. 
The  arrogance  is  the  same,  whether  it  ./ 

be  heard  in  a  military  aristocracy  or  in 
an  industrial  plutocracy.  The  duty  of 
happiness  is  not  fulfilled  till  we  make 
it  stand  for  the  right  of  others  to 
happiness. 

It  is  true  that  life  is  more  than  meat, 
and  that  the  life  of  a  man  does  not  con- 
sist in  the  abundance  of  the  things  that 
he  possesseth.     It  is  true  that  the  mind  '' 

can  be  a  kingdom,  and  that  no  mere 
gospel  of  the  dinner-pail  can  save  so- 
ciety. If  all  men  were  as  angels  and 
had  a  perfect  interior  life,  there  would 

51 


tw 


"Uhe  1>ul^  of 


be  no  social  problem.  It  is  equally  true 
that  if  all  men  lived  out  perfectly  the 
golden  rule  and  sought  the  things  of 
others  rather  than  of  self,  there  would 
be  no  problem.  If  life  everywhere  were 
perfectly  adjusted,  external  conditions 
would  be  negligible.  But  the  whole  task 
of  life  is  one  of  adjustment,  and  it  is 
futile  to  argue  what  would  be  if  the  facts 
were  other  than  they  are.  The  facts 
clearly  indicate  that  to  multitudes  the 
higher  life  is  practically  impossible  be- 
cause of  intolerable  conditions.  With 
sweated  labour  and  crowded  slums  and 
hopeless  poverty,  how  can  spiritual  in- 
terests find  entrance  to  many.''  With 
the  degradation  of  home  and  the  conta- 
gion of  example,  which  is  the  environ- 
ment of  so  many  children,  what  chance 
have  they  to  live  the  life  wliich  should 
be  their  birthright.''  The  very  existence 
of  some  of  the  evils  of  our  modern  city 
is  a  challenge  to  all  who  accept  the  duty 
of  happiness. 

52 


^ctppincsiSi 


We  do  not  wonder  that  some  re- 
formers put  all  the  emphasis  on  material 
conditions.  We  do  not  wonder  that 
many  speak  as  if  the  millennium  would 
begin  when  material  blessings  were 
better  distributed.  If  they  exagger- 
ate the  redeeming  power  of  physical 
comfort  in  their  passion  to  help  the 
socially  distressed,  we  can  sympathise 
with  even  the  narrowness  of  their  out- 
look. Also,  we  must  not  forget  the  truth 
that  their  program  contains,  remember- 
ing as  we  do  how  much  the  best  in  our 
own  life  we  can  credit  to  our  happy  cir- 
cumstances. Grinding  poverty,  the 
sting  of  hunger,  a  bare  and  crowded 
home,  sordid  cares,  the  lack  of  the  ordi- 
nary amenities  of  life  and  sometimes 
even  of  its  decencies,  justify  the  re- 
former's zeal.  He  may  well  think  that  it 
is  useless  to  speak  of  higher  needs  to  be 
satisfied,  and  higher  instincts  to  be 
nourished,  until  the  primal  needs  are 
met.     If  wherever  there  is  need  we  can 

53 


■  ■"»- 


find  our  neighbour,  it  is  not  hard  to  see 
where  at  least  part  of  our  duty  Hes,  and 
it  may  be  that  our  first  duty  is  to  seek 
to  make  our  neighbour  happy  before 
we  try  to  make  him  good. 


54 


Sources-  of  ^ctppmciSi^ 


v-^ 


'■^r^^l       ^J 


To  watch  the  com  grow,  or  the  blossoms 
set;  to  draw  hard  breath  over  the  plough- 
share or  spade;  to  read,  to  thmk,  to  love,  to 
pray,  are  the  thuigs  that  make  men  happy. 

Ruskin. 


\ 


'^- 


ff 


^ 


^hc  .Syourcc^  of 


FORTUNATELY  the  common 
sources  of  happiness  correspond 
with  the  elemental  needs  of  life. 
When  we  have  found  out  the  natural 
things  which  man  needs  in  order  to  live 
the  truly  human  life  of  the  best  sort,  we 
have  discovered  the  ordinary  sources  of 
happiness.  These  are  first  the  primal 
necessities  for  physical  well-being  — 
food  and  shelter  and  activity.  The 
largest  menu  crowded  with  French 
names  is  only  an  elaboration  of  the  com- 
mon need  that  men  have  to  eat.  The 
variety  and  refinements  of  dress  and  the 
establishments  of  a  palace  are  only  elab- 
orations of  the  need  of  shelter.  The 
most  expensive  games  and  sports,  polo- 
playing  and  yachting,  or  the  particular 
sport  that  happens  to  be  most  fashion- 

57 


,[^^ 


-.71 


^hc  Sources  oj" 


^: 


'i^ 


able,  are  only  elaborations  of  the  need 
of  exercise.  We  create  artificial  needs, 
and  desire  grows  by  what  it  feeds  on ; 
but  we  soon  discover  that  happiness  does 
not  depend  on  the  number  of  men's 
wants.  According  to  a  man's  income  and 
tastes  he  lives  in  a  certain  style,  and  feels 
he  needs  a  certain  size  of  house,  and  must 
wear  a  certain  manner  of  dress,  and  have 
a  certain  kind  of  cooking.  Servants, 
horses,  automobiles,  and  what  not,  get 
to  be  looked  on  as  necessities,  merely 
because  it  is  thought  that  a  certain  way 
of  living  is  required.  We  develop  wants, 
and  begin  to  think  that  they  are  needs. 

A  little  observation  convinces  us  that 
there  is  no  end  to  that  method  of  attain- 
ing happiness.  We  see  that  those  who 
look  on  life  as  a  game  of  grab  never 
reach  a  point  of  contentment.  They  are 
like  the  daughters  of  the  horse-leech 
ever  crying,  "  Give,  give."  There  is 
always  room  for  Carlyle's  satire  that  the 
black  spot  in  our  sunshine  is  the  shadow 

58 


<IJ 


■^ 


Y 


1 


^ctppinc^iiSi 


of  ourselves.  "  Will  the  whole  finance 
ministers  and  upholsterers  and  confec- 
tioners of  modem  Europe  undertake,  in 
joint-stock  company,  to  make  one  shoe- 
black happy?  They  cannot  accomplish 
it,  above  an  hour  or  two :  for  the  shoe- 
black also  has  a  soul  quite  other  than  his 
stomach ;  and  would  require,  if  you  con- 
sider it,  for  his  permanent  satisfaction 
and  saturation,  simply  this  allotment, 
no  more,  and  no  less  :  God's  infinite  Uni- 
verse altogether  to  himself,  therein  to 
enjoy  infinitely,  and  fill  every  wish  as 
fast  as  it  rose.  Oceans  of  Hochheimer, 
a  throat  like  that  of  Ophiuchus :  speak 
not  of  them ;  to  the  infinite  shoeblack 
they  are  as  nothing.  No  sooner  is  your 
ocean  filled,  than  he  grumbles  that  it 
might  have  been  of  better  vintage.  Try 
him  with  half  of  a  universe,  of  an  om- 
nipotence, he  sets  to  quarrelling  with  the 
proprietor  of  the  other  half,  and  de- 
clares himself  the  most  maltreated  of 
men." 

59 


*®hc  ^ouvce^  of 


There  are  some  ambitions  which  men 
set  before  them  as  the  infalhble  way  to 
a  happy  Hfe,  such  as  fame,  or  a  position 
of  power,  or  the  possession  of  great 
wealth ;  but  apart  from  the  fact  that 
those  who  attain  them  confess  their  fail- 
ure to  permanently  satisfy,  we  rule  these 
out  because  they  cannot  be  the  means 
for  the  mass  of  men.  It  is  fortunate 
that  happiness  does  not  depend  on  pos- 
sessions. Indeed  these  often  hinder,  as 
over-anxiety  to  provide  for  contingen- 
cies burdens  the  mind.  In  Lewis  Carroll's 
Through  the  Looking-Glass  Alice  found 
that  the  White  Knight  worried  himself 
with  all  sorts  of  contrivances  —  a  bee- 
hive in  case  some  bees  made  a  nest  in  it 
and  gave  him  honey,  a  mouse-trap  in 
case  mice  should  come  that  he  might 
keep  them  from  running  all  over  the 
horse's  back,  anklets  round  his  horse's 
feet  to  guard  against  possible  bites  of 
sharks,  a  dish  that  would  come  in  handy 
if   he   found   any   plumcake,   and   other 

60 


^appmc5i;8i 


\ 


things  of  his  own  invention  for  eventu-  \ 

alities.  It  is  a  parable  of  life  for  many 
of  us,  who  cumber  ourselves  with  things 
that  are  supposed  to  minister  to  com-  ' 

fort.  A  man  makes  a  great  discovery 
when  he  learns  that  his  life  does  not  con-  \ 

sist  of  the  abundance  of  things,  and  that  ' 

happiness  lies  along  the  line  of  the  com- 
mon and  universal  needs.  We  find  two 
men  toiling  laboriously  —  one  to  get 
a  dinner  for  his  appetite,  and  the  other 
to  get  an  appetite  for  his  dinner ;  and 
sometimes  it  is  difficult  to  say  which 
finds  his  task  the  harder  of  the  two. 
Experience  teaches  also  that  whenever 
men  live  simply  and  sanely  pleasure 
comes  easily  with  every  act. 

It  is  fatuous  to  deny  that  there  are 
satisfactions  of  sense,  and  that  these 
are  the  foundations  of  a  happy  life. 
They  are  often  condemned  as  mere  ani- 
mal pleasures,  and  despised  in  the  sup- 
posed interests  of  the  higher  faculties. 

61 


I  'I 


^lic  /S)ources  of 


That  religion  is  false,  which  draws  sharp 
lines  between  the  sacred  and  the  secular, 
and  which  looks  on  the  natural  func- 
tions of  life  as  common  and  unclean. 
For  one  thing,  it  is  not  easy  to  draw  a 
sharp  line,  and  classify  certain  pleas- 
ures as  bodily  and  others  as  intellectual. 
Are  the  delights  of  music  independent 
of  the  physical  sense  of  hearing,  and  is 
the  beauty  of  the  landscape  without  re- 
lation to  the  physical  sense  of  sight? 
The  finest  pleasures  of  the  emotional 
life  are  connected  with  the  nervous  sys- 
tem, and  even  the  intellectual  life  rests 
on  the  gray  matter  of  the  brain.  If 
we  try  to  rule  out  sensuous  enjoyment 
it  can  only  be  by  making  an  end  of  life. 
For,  all  the  natural  sources  of  happi- 
ness are  related  to  sense,  the  beauty  of 
colour  and  form,  the  odour  of  flowers, 
the  harmony  of  music,  the  sweep  of  the 
ocean,  the  sublimity  of  mountains  and 
gorgeous  sunsets.  By  all  avenues  of 
sense  the  wonderful  world  presses  in  on 

62 


^appincs;Si 


us,  and  we  can  find  pleasure  at  every 
door. 

We  frankly  and  gratefully  acknowl- 
edge that  a  source  of  pleasure  lies  in 
the  region  of  the  senses,  in  the  exercise 
of  the  bodily  functions.  In  all  of  them 
the  golden  injle  of  moderation  is  the 
fruit  of  the  wisdom  and  experience  of 
the  ages.  Many  superior  moralists 
seem  to  think  it  a  degradation  that  the 
ordinary  man  should  enjoy  his  meals. 
But  apart  from  the  fact  that  a  neces- 
sary function  justifies  itself  in  spite 
of  superfine  criticism,  we  see  no  reason 
for  despising  when  we  think  that  so 
much  of  social  life  and  home  life  centres 
there.  The  table  has  become  a  centre  of 
human  relations,  friendship,  family  af- 
fection, the  virtues  of  hospitality,  inter- 
course, and  ordinary  human  fellowship. 
In  civilised  life  a  meal  is  a  social  cere- 
mony, and  everyone  knows  the  distinc- 
tion practically  between  eating  and 
feeding.     To  convince  ourselves  of  this, 

63 


^hc  ^ourccsi  of 


we  need  only  think  of  the  table-talk 
which  has  taken  its  place  in  literature, 
and  which  has  an  even  dearer  place  in 
our  lives.  We  need  only  think  how  the 
ceremony,  which  began  with  the  love- 
feasts  of  the  early  church,  stands  now 
as  the  symbol  of  the  profoundest  truth 
in  Christian  faith. 

But  we  do  not  need  thus  to  spiritual- 
ise it  to  justify  it.  There  is  a  solemn 
grace  before  a  meal  which  assumes  that 
the  only  purpose  of  eating  is  that  the 
food  should  be  sanctified,  and  as  often 
as  not  the  remark  of  Mrs.  Johnson 
would  apply :  "  Where  is  the  use,  Mr. 
Johnson,  of  returning  thanks  for  a  dish 
which  in  another  minute  you  will  de- 
clare is  unfit  for  a  dog?"  The  great 
purpose  of  religion  after  all  should  be 
not  to  secularise  the  sacred,  but  to  sanc- 
tify the  secular.  We  learn  how  much 
we  have  to  be  thankful  for,  and  how 
easily  in  our  estimates  of  life  we  can 
overlook    the    common    gifts.       Walter 

64 


^ctj^j^ine&a 


Pater,  in  Marius  the  Epicurean,  speak- 
ing of  the  early,  simple,  and  serious 
Roman  religion,  says,  "  And  those 
simple  gifts,  like  other  objects  equally 
trivial  —  bread,  oil,  wine,  milk  —  had 
regained  for  him,  by  their  use  in  such 
religious  service,  that  poetic  and,  as  it 
were,  moral  significance  which  surely 
belongs  to  all  the  means  of  our  daily 
life,  could  we  but  break  through  the  veil 
of  our  familiarity  with  things  by  no 
means  vulgar  in  themselves." 

Accepting  the  physical  basis  of  life, 
the  first  important  factor  in  ordinary 
happiness  is  health.  This  is  one  of  the 
common  boons,  the  worth  of  which  few 
realise  till  they  lose  it,  or  are  in  danger 
of  its  loss.  It  is  only  when  there  is  an 
obstruction  in  the  smoothly  running 
machine  that  we  take  notice  how  well  it 
works.  In  one  way  or  another  we  dis- 
cover that  good  health  is  a  prime  factor 
in  happiness.     Whether  we  ever   learn 

65 


^hc  Sources  of 


to  value  it  for  itself  or  not,  we  learn 
its  importance  for  all  the  other  ends  of 
life.  We  need  not  go  so  far  as  to  say 
with  Dr.  Johnson  that  illness  makes  a 
man  a  scoundrel,  but  at  any  rate  it  is  a 
serious  handicap  both  for  good  work 
and  for  good  spirits.  Health  ensures 
more  than  the  mere  endurance  which 
makes  heavy  work  possible ;  for  it  also 
affects  the  quality  of  the  work.  Com- 
plete efficiency  is  not  possible  for  those 
living  constantly  at  a  low  level  of  health. 
Health  also  affects  our  practical 
judgments,  and  lack  of  it  often  gives 
the  warped  mind  which  cannot  see 
things  as  they  are.  Men  drift  between 
vacillation  and  obstinacy,  because  they 
have  lost  the  balance,  and  are  living 
with  shaken  nei-ves.  Sydney  Smith  said 
wittily  about  a  man  that  he  had  "  not 
body  enough  to  cover  his  mind  decently 
with:  his  intellect  is  improperly  ex- 
posed." Certainly  many  a  man  would 
have  more  influence  if  he  had  a  more 

66 


^ctppinc^is 


proportionate  development  of  body  and 
mind.  To-day  many  professions  have 
become  so  strenuous,  that  only  a  strong 
man  can  bear  the  burden  which  eminence 
in  them  demands.  A  doctor,  himself 
suffei-ing  from  physical  languor,  may 
be  even  a  danger  to  his  patient.  Many 
a  time  the  judgment  is  clouded  because 
the  head  is  not  clear,  and  work  done 
under  a  feeling  of  depressed  vitality  will 
lose  some  of  its  best  quality. 

Health  goes  even  further  in  its  effects, 
and  influences  moral  qualities.  We 
speak  about  the  soul  commanding  the 
body,  and  so  it  can  and  does.  There 
have  been  many  instances  in  which  great 
virtues  have  been  born  of  pain,  and  his- 
tory is  full  of  noble  illustrations  of  men 
who  have  turned  their  necessity  to  glori- 
ous gain,  and  have  made  physical  weak- 
ness an  occasion  for  the  display  of 
moral  strength.  But  more  often  thfe 
body  gets  a  more  secure  place  of  com- 
mand,  the  weaker   it  is.      Slackness   of 

67 


*®^Hc  >&auvcc^  of 


fibre  communicates  itself  to  mental  and 
moral  states.  Bodily  conditions  influ- 
ence the  whole  life.  Noldeke  quotes  a 
saying  in  connection  with  some  of  the 
disgusting  neglect  of  body  of  a  pillar- 
saint  like  St.  Simon  Stylites :  "  Where 
the  skin  has  little  feeling,  so  also  has 
the  mind  and  soul."  An  invalid  can  be 
happy,  and  a  weakling  can  be  noble,  but 
it  is  in  spite  of  their  disabilities.  The 
complete  functions  of  life  can  only  be 
adequately  performed  in  health,  and  so 
we  rightly  make  the  first  substantial 
factor  of  happiness  a  wholesome  physi- 
cal nature.  s^ 

This  naturally  leads  to  the  second  \ 
source  of  happiness,  to  be  found  in  work.^ 
We  should  naturally  expect  this,  if 
modem  psychology  is  correct  in  relating 
pleasure  to  vital  energy.  Pleasure 
marks  the  normal  exercise  of  function, 
and  pain  is  the  impeding  of  a  function. 
It  used  to  be  explained  as  a  purely  pas- 

68 


JSbctfipina^i^ 


sive  thing,  a  satisfaction  received  from 
outside  stimulus.  We  now  see  that  it 
is  connected  with  activity,  the  outgoing 
of  energy,  the  exercise  of  faculty.  This 
explains  a  fact  often  noted,  that  there  is 
a  pleasure  which  comes  through  what 
can  only  be  called  pain,  if  we  were  com- 
pelled to  classify  every  state  of  feehng. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  poetic  pains 
Which  only  poets  know. 

It  is  sometimes  hard  to  disentangle  the 
strands  of  the  cord,  though  one  of  them 
is  a  scarlet  strand. 

Looking  on  pleasure  as  a  passive 
thing,  some  very  humble  teachers  have 
defined  happiness  as  merely  the  cessa- 
tion of  pain,  or  the  slight  balance  of 
pleasure  over  pain  —  if  indeed  that  ever 
is  possible.  So,  the  saying  of  the  Greek 
sage  has  been  repeated  scores  of  times, 
"  Call  no  man  happy  till  he  is  dead,"  the 
meaning  being  that  however  much  good 
there  has  been  in  life  there  may  yet  come 

69 


"©he  ^ouvcc^  of 

more  evil  to  counterbalance  it.  The 
crreat  truth,  that  it  is  more  blessed  to 
give  than  to  receive,  is  only  nonsense  to 
this  view  of  happiness.  The  idea  that 
pleasure  could  itself  be  cradled  in  pain 
has  no  place  in  a  scheme,  which  makes 
happiness  merely  the  result  of  the  cessa- 
tion of  pain.  In  this  view  the  best  we 
can  do  is  to  minimise  unhappiness,  and 
so  the  effort  should  be  to  forget  self 
and  drown  sorrow  in  a  cup  of  forget- 
fulness.  The  narcotic  plan  of  life  is 
common  enough.  Dr.  Johnson  believed 
that  man  desired  happiness,  but  thought 
it  a  craving  that  was  doomed  ever  to 
failure,  and  roundly  asserted  that  no 
man  could  be  happy  except  when  he  is 
drunk!  All  such  views  are  due  to  the 
failure  to  understand  the  true  source 
of  pleasure  —  as  output  not  income. 
There  is  a  joy  in  overcoming,  of  being 
in  the  very  stress  and  strain  of  life,  so 
long  as  we  are  fit  for  the  task.  There 
is  pleasure  in  battling  in  the  teeth  of  the 

70 


^appincsis 


hard  glad  weather.  The  strong  man 
does  not  ask  for  the  shelter  of  a  snug 
nest  as  his  permanent  environment. 

Work  if  it  is  at  all  congenial  is  a 
source  of  great  happiness,  and  this  is 
in  line  with  the  statement  of  psychology 
that  pleasure  comes  from  function  in 
healthful  action.  This  does  not  mean 
that  only  when  there  is  a  strong  natural  J 

bent  will  a  man  enjoy  his  work.  The 
average  man  has  no  special  aptitude  for 
one  kind  of  work  above  another.  The 
secret  of  happiness  in  work  does  not  lie 
in  only  doing;  the  kind  of  work  we  like, 
but  in  learning  to  like  the  kind  of  work 
we  do.  In  any  case,  whether  we  get 
much  enjoyment  from  actual  work,  it 
is  a  fact  of  experience  that  without  it 
/  happiness  cannot  be  kept.  The  aimless 
/  lives  are  the  most  miserable,  and  the 
\busy  ones  the  most  happy.  Life  loses 
its  flavour  if  the  salt  of  work  be  left  out. 
Carlyle,  it  may  be,  exaggerates  the  gos- 
pel of  work,  but  he  is  surely  right  in 

71 


^hc  Sources  of 


>  essence  in  asserting  that  "  work  is  the 
grand  cure  of  all  maladies  and  miseries 
that  beset  mankind  —  honest  work  which 
you  intend  getting  done."  The  hope- 
less classes  at  both  ends  of  the  scale  are 
^  the  idle,  who  have  no  serious  purpose. 

A  life  of  idle  luxury  and  selfish  ease  is 
haunted  by  the  hell  of  ennui. 

At  the  same  time  praise  of  work  for  U     ^ 

its  own  sake  sounds  like  satire  to  many,     il     ^ 
who    feel   that   work   to    them    is    often     ^-^ 
drudgery.    It  would  be  different  if  work 
were  always   congenial  and   full  of   in- 
terest.    As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,     '|  ||\ 
work  in  itself  is  often  not  a  joyful  thing, 
and  has  sometimes  more  pain  than  pleas- 
ure connected  with  it.     If  it  were  a  con- 
stant source  of  happiness,  it  is  remark-              H  11 
able   that  men   should   seek   everywhere 
to   avoid   it,   and   that   so   many   of   us 
should   make  our   ideal   a   blessed   time 
when  we  may  be  able   to  be   idle.      Of 
course  some  of  this  is  due  to  the  over- 
strain  and   overwork   of  much   modern 

72 


^ctppmeiSid 


industry.  But  we  should  clear  our 
minds  of  cant  here  also ;  and  while  it  is 
true  that  a  happy  life  must  have  a  pur- 
pose in  it  and  therefore  must  have  work, 
yet  work  after  all  is  not  an  end  but  a 
means.  To  most  it  is  a  means  to  earn 
one's  living,  and  to  some  to  earn  the 
right  to  do  something  else.  Most  men 
work  for  the  leisure  which  enables  them 
to  do  what  they  like  better  than  work 
itself.  We  feel  instinctively  that  to  live 
only  for  one's  work  would  be  life  with- 
out a  Sabbath. 


The  next  great  source  of  happiness  is 
to  be  found  in  the  region  of  the  natural 
relations  of  life  —  the  satisfaction  of 
the  affections.  It  includes  home  life, 
friendship,  and  the  varied  associations 
with  others.  We  are  bound  up  in  a 
bundle  of  life,  and  the  purest  joys  come 
from  the  connection.  Human  life  has 
never  been,  and  can  never  be,  lived  in 
isolation.     Social  intercourse  has  made 

73 


^hc  ^ouvcc^  of 


us  what  we  are.  Chief  among  these 
forces  is  the  family,  and  there  hes  for 
most  the  great  opportunity  for  happi- 
ness. So  great  is  this  that  it  outweighs 
all  other  sources  of  felicity,  and  failure 
here  gives  a  bitterness  to  the  whole  of 
life.  The  family  represents  the  first 
duty  of  the  normal  man,  and  in  it  he  /^ 

finds  his  true  happiness.  The  chief 
source  of  satisfaction  is  found  in  the 
mutual  love  of  husband  and  wife,  par- 
ents and  children,  brothers  and  sisters. 
The  cultivation  of  the  domestic  joys 
should  be  the  chief  aim  in  the  art  of 
giving  and  receiving  happiness.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  life  is  spoiled  for  many 
not  because  of  great  troubles,  but  by  the 
petty  pricks.  Home  life,  the  source  of 
the  sweetest  pleasure  and  the  most  per- 
manent joy,  is  often  ruined  by  little 
stupidities,  foolish  disputes,  childish 
misunderstandings. 

There  is  a  pure  pleasure  that  older 
people  can  have  in  the  joy  of  children. 

74 


^appincsi^ 


Marcus  Cornelius  Fronto,  one  of  the 
teachers  of  the  Emperor  Marcus  Aure- 
lius,  writes  in  his  serene  old  age  to  the 
emperor  about  his  children :  "  Well,  I 
have  seen  the  little  ones  —  the  pleasant- 
est  sight  of  my  life ;  for  they  are  as  like 
yourself  as  could  possibly  be.  It  has 
well  repaid  me  for  my  journey  over  that 
slippery  road  and  up  those  steep  rocks ; 
for  I  beheld  you,  not  simply  face  to  face 
before  me,  but  more  generously  which- 
ever way  I  turned,  to  the  right  or  left 
of  me.  For  the  rest,  I  found  them, 
heaven  be  thanked !  with  healthy  cheeks 
and  lusty  voices.  One  was  holding  a 
slice  of  white  bread  like  a  king's  son ; 
the  other  a  crust  of  brown  bread  as  be- 
comes the  offspring  of  a  philosopher. 
I  pray  the  gods  to  have  the  sower  and 
the  seed  alike  in  their  keeping ;  to  watch 
over  this  field  wherein  the  ears  of  corn 
are  so  kindly  alike.  Ah !  I  heard,  too, 
their  pretty  voices,  so  sweet  that  in  the 
childish  prattle  of  one  and  the  other  I 

75 


^ 


^hc  .-Sources  of 


seemed  somehow  to  be  listening  —  yes, 
in  that  chirping  of  your  pretty  chickens 
—  to  the  limpid  and  harmonious  notes 
of  your  own  oratory.  Take  care !  you 
will  find  me  growing  independent,  having 
those  I  could  love  in  your  place  —  love 
on  the  surety  of  my  eyes  and  ears." 
There  is  more  than  a  courtier's  touch 
in  this  letter,  —  the  touch  of  a  philoso- 
pher, with  an  eye  to  the  great  human 
relations. 

If  the  home  is  the  sphere  of  a  man's 
sweetest  happiness,  much  more  is  it  true 
of  the  normal  woman ;  for  the  necessities 
of  life  drive  him  from  home  during  much 
of  his  time.  Pleasure  in  children  is  not 
confined  to  the  earliest  stages  when  their 
weakness  and  winsome  ways  so  easily 
touch  every  heart.  There  is  a  greater 
interest,  if  not  a  greater  pleasure,  in  the 
growth  of  faculty  and  character  which 
comes  in  later  years.  Indeed  the  sad- 
dest thing  in  life  often  is  that  a  son's 
success  comes  too  late  to  rejoice  the  heart 

76 


^appmcs^s 


of  father  or  mother,  to  whom  it  would 
have  been  the  richest  gladness.  This 
source  of  happiness,  like  the  others 
mentioned,  is  one  that  is  independent  of 
wealth  or  station.  Often  great  wealth 
or  high  station  cut  people  off  from  the 
joy  that  the  poorest  here  have.  Burns 
in  his  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  de- 
scribes a  labouring  man's  home-coming, 

At  length  his  lonely  cot  appears  in  view. 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree; 
Th'   expectant   wee-things,    toddlin'    stacher 
thro' 
To  meet  their  dad,  wi'  flichterin  noise  and 
glee. 
His  wee  bit  ingle,  blinking  bonnily. 

His  clean  hearth-stane,  his  thrifty   wifie's 
smUe, 
The  lisping  infant  prattling  on  his  knee, 

Does  a'  his  weary  carking  cares  beguile, 
An'  makes  him  quite  forget  his  labour   an' 
his  toil. 

Such  love,  with  hardly  else  beyond  the 
work  which  makes  the  home  possible,  is 
itself  enough  to  make  life  worth  living. 

77 


^\ie  ^ourcc^  of 


There  are  other  relations,  which  con- 
tribute to  happiness,  the  wider  circles 
which  sweep  through  our  common  life, 
with  the  home  as  a  centre.  Civilised 
society  consists  of  more  than  a  series  of 
unrelated  homes,  each  a  separate  unit. 
There  are  all  the  associations  which  men 
make  through  their  work,  or  their  per- 
sonal tastes,  or  their  purposes.  Oppor- 
tunities abound  for  the  cultivation  of 
sympathy  and  helpfulness  and  mutual 
service,  through  the  groups  which  com- 
pose social  life.  Here  also  happiness 
awaits  the  natural  and  generous  outflow 
of  sympathetic  feeling  and  action.  Re- 
membering our  principle  that  the  com- 
mon sources  of  happiness  correspond 
with  the  elemental  needs  of  life,  it  follows 
that  here  we  would  expect  true  satis- 
faction, since  social  life  is  the  natural 
condition.  First  among  these  outside 
relations,  especially  to  the  young,  is 
friendship,  which  sometimes  comes  as  the 
greatest   gift   in   the   world.      It   comes 

78 


^appinc/ss 


into  many  a  life  like  a  miracle,  bringing- 
spring  to  the  heart.  All  things  seem 
possible  to  men  who  feel  themselves  be- 
longing to  each  other.  There  is  a  thrill 
in  the  words  Shakespeare  puts  into  the 
mouth  of  King  Henry  V. 

We  few,  we  happy  few,  we  band  of  brothers. 

Friendship  is  training  for  the  larger 
social  life,  and  should  point  the  way  to 
the  wider  interests.  The  loyalty  of  com- 
rade to  comrade  is  needed  for  every  as- 
sociation of  men  who  seek  to  serve  the 
community,  and  this  loyalty  is  itself  a 
strength  and  an  abiding  joy. 

There  is  another  natural  source  of 
happiness  in  the  exercise  of  the  faculties 
of  the  mind,  but  this  will  be  dealt  with 
in  speaking  of  the  Grades  of  Happiness. 
No  reference  to  the  sources  of  happiness 
could  be  complete,  which  entirely  left 
out  the  intellectual  satisfaction  which 
man  can  have  through  the  use  of  reason 

79 


*®Kc  ^auvcc^  of 


and  thought  and  imagination.  We  have 
seen  that  pleasure  accompanies  the  out- 
flow of  energy,  and  naturally  we  would 
look  to  this  further  source.  But  our 
chief  purpose  here  is  to  show  that  the 
greatest  happiness  lies  in  the  humbler 
spheres  open  practically  to  all  men,  and 
not  merely  to  the  favourites  of  fortune 
or  the  most  gifted  sons  of  men.     Indeed  ,> 

these  special  gifts  bring  special  burdens,  i\   J 

and  often  lay  the  heart  open  to  special 
sorrows.    Even  those  men  who  have  trod 
high  paths,  who  have  attempted  great 
;/[)  labours    and  achieved  great  ambitions, 

have  looked  for  their  real  happiness  in 
the  humbler  spheres  which  are  common 
to  all.  Men,  who  have  climbed  high  or 
who  have  devoted  their  lives  to  great 
public  service,  have  confessed  that  their 
best  joy  has  come  not  in  success  or  fame, 
but  in  the  simpler  regions  —  their  home 
or  their  friendships,  the  love  of  nature 
or  of  children,  the  pleasure  of  reading 
or  of  human  intercourse.     It  is  a  com- 

80 


^afrpinCiS^ 


mon  experience  that  the  exceptional  gives 
little  real  j  oy .  The  things  men  struggle 
for,  the  prizes  of  ambition,  are  often 
barren  of  pleasure,  and  certainly  are 
dwarfed  beside  the  common  human 
sources  of  happiness. 

It  is  a  great  comfort  to  realise  that 
some  of  the  chief  sources  of  happiness 
are  open  to  all.  We  do  not  forget  that 
any  or  all  of  these  things  cannot  assure 
us  of  complete  satisfaction ;  and  we 
do  not  forget  that  being  all  to  some 
extent  at  the  command  of  fortune  no 
man  can  guarantee  them.  Health  may 
be  broken  by  accident,  work  may  be  a 
constant  pain  or  even  become  an  impos- 
sibility, the  delights  of  home  may  be  de- 
nied or  may  be  shattered  by  the  weak- 
ness of  others.  In  any  case  these 
sources  are  more  or  less  insecure  and 
sooner  or  later  must  dry  up,  so  that  life 
needs  a  more  secure  refuge.  Yet  with 
all   allowance   there    is    comfort   in    the 

81 


®Kc  .-Sources  of 


thought  that  in  ordinary  circumstances 
the  best  happiness  is  denied  to  none. 
For  example,  wealth  does  not  add  to 
happiness  in  arithmetical  progression. 
Ten  times  a  man's  income  will  not  give 
him  ten  times  the  pleasure.  A  modem 
school  of  philosophy,  which  frankly 
accepts  pleasure  as  the  end  of  life,  has 
also  accepted  the  dictum  that  the  rate 
of  increase  of  pleasure  decreases  as  it 
means  increase.  We  cannot  put  any- 
thing that  relates  to  human  life  into 
mathematical  formulas  like  that,  but 
' '  there  is  an  immense  truth  in  it.     Great 

position   or   wealth   or   power   or   fame 
only  adds  new  burdens.     We  think  we 
will  banish  care  and  build  up  security, 
\\  l\  and  we  discover  we  have  only  exchanged 

our  cares. 

The  lesson  for  us  is  to  lay  hold  of 

,,  these  natural  sources  which  lie  at  our 

command.     The  eyes  of  the  fool  are  on 

the  ends   of  the  earth,   and  we  are  all 

more  or  less  foolish  in  this  respect.    We 

82 


/•i 


l'/\ 


^ctppmc/ss 


do  not  recognise  and  use  all  our  present 
opportunities.  We  are  always  going 
to  be  happy  in  some  other  situation  when 
other  and  distant  joys  are  possessed 
by  us.  "  Man  never  is  but  always  to  be 
blessed."  Many  a  man  possesses  the 
true  sources  of  this  wealth  of  joy,  but 
persistently  turns  his  back  on  them, 
sighing  for  an  El  Dorado  that  never  is 
possible.  We  spend  money  for  that 
which  is  not  bread  and  despise  the  home- 
made fare  that  really  can  satisf3%  We 
neglect  our  own  garden,  which  could 
grow  flowers  and  fruit  as  fair  and  as 
good  as  the  product  of  far  off  climes. 
A  foreign  wine  may  be  as  inferior  too, 
as  it  is  more  costly  than,  the  vintage 
of  our  own  vineyard.  We  hunger  for 
the  unknown,  when  we  might  simply  rise 
and  break  our  fast.  It  should  be  to  us  a 
great  lesson  to  realise  that  the  true 
sources  of  ordinary  human  happiness 
are  so  common,  and  that  the  opportuni- 
ties are  scattered  at  our  feet.     Health, 

83 


jSi)ct:pj^inc^^ 


and  work,  and  rest,  and  love,  and  the 
simple  exercise  of  all  the  gifts  of  human 
nature  are  the  fountains  that  quench  the 
thirst  of  man  for  the  joy  of  life. 

There  is  much  to  be  said  for  the 
Gipsy  philosophy  in  the  conversation 
recorded  by  George  Borrow  in  "  La- 
vengro  " : 

"  '  Life  is   sweet,  brother.' 

"  '  Do  you  think  so?  ' 

"  '  Think  so  ! — there  's  night  and  day, 
brother,  both  sweet  things ;  sun,  moon 
and  stars,  brother,  all  sweet  things: 
there  's  hkewise  a  wind  on  the  heath. 
Life  is  very  sweet,  brother:  who  would 
wish  to  die  ?  ' 

"  '  In  sickness,  Jasper?  ' 

"  '  There  'sthe  sun  and  stars,  brother.' 

"  '  In  blindness,  Jasper?  ' 

"  '  There  's  the  wind  on  the  heath, 
brother.  .  .  .  Dosta,  we  '11  now  go  to 
the  tents  and  put  on  the  gloves,  and  I  '11 
try  to  make  you  feel  what  a  sweet  thing 
it  is  to  be  alive,  brother  1 ' " 

84 


<-2)Ccrct  of  ^ctpjrinc^^ 


^- 


Ssi/ 


Many  and  subtle  are  my  lays, 
The  latest  better  than  the  first, 

For  I  can  mend  the  happiest  days 
And  charm  the  anguish  of  the  worst. 

—  Emerson. 


// 


^Kc  /-2)ccrci  of 


IT  is  no  disparagement  of  the  com- 
mon human  joy,  which  is  afforded 
by  the  ordinary  sources  of  happi- 
ness, to  say  that  the  heart  cannot  be 
completely  and  permanently  satisfied 
thus.  There  are  indeed  earthly  waters 
which  quench  thirst,  but  whoso  drinketh 
of  them  thirsteth  again ;  and  the  heart 
of  man  has  longed  for  waters,  which 
if  a  man  drink  he  shall  never  thirst  but 
find  a  living  well  springing  up  within. 
The  ordinary  happiness  is  unstable  at 
the  best,  and  can  be  lost  by  a  disaster. 
We  may  lose  it  through  forces  and 
events,  over  which  we  have  no  control. 
We  cannot  boast  ourselves  of  even  to- 
morrow's joy;  for  we  know  not  what 
shall  be  on  the  morrow.  It  is  imperfect 
while  it  lasts,  and  it  is  uncertain  of  last- 

87 


'^hc  ^ecrci  of 


ing  at  all.  This  precarious  nature  of 
all  human  pleasure  has  ever  added  pathos 
to  life.  We  are  dependent  on  the  world 
for  ordinary  happiness,  and  have  to 
wrest  it  with  effort  from  the  barren 
fields  of  life  and  even  compel  life  to  give 
us  it  against  the  very  forces  of  nature. 
That  is  an  unequal  conflict,  and  how- 
ever successful  we  may  be,  it  is  a  con- 
test in  which  we  must  ultimately  be 
vanquished.  Sooner  or  later  we  must 
loosen  our  grasp  on  the  common  sources 
of  joy;  for  that  which  is  against  us 
becomes  stronger  than  all  that  is  with 
us.  Any  day  may  be  the  day  when  the 
grasshopper  is  a  burden,  and  one  day 
even  desire  shall  fail. 

This  is  not  to  say  that  it  was  not 
worth  while.  Even  at  the  worst  it  is 
worth  while  to  put  up  a  good  fight  with 
life.  There  is  joy  itself  in  plucking 
joy  from  the  clutches  of  the  enemy,  in 
snatching  success  from  the  very  teeth 
of  failure.       Life  is  a  great  and  glorious 

88 


^crppincs^ 


venture,  and  a  man  may  rejoice  in  the 
mere  battle.  We  do  not  forget  also 
that  discontent  and  unhappiness  have 
served  a  useful  function  in  the  education 
of  man.  Men  have  been  driven  out,  as 
well  as  tempted  out,  to  try  their  fortunes 
in  unknown  shores.  But  it  only  adds  to 
the  pathos  of  our  lot  to  discover,  not 
only  that  shipwreck  is  possible,  but  that 
we  never  reach  the  longed-for  land. 
It  often  dashes  the  zeal  of  an  eager  re- 
former when  he  realises  that  there  are 
more  foes  to  joy  than  poverty.  There 
are  more  sources  of  human  misery  than 
want,  and  the  way  to  happiness  is 
harder  to  find  than  the  way  to  prosper- 
ity. There  is  a  Kingdom  into  which 
it  is  not  easy  for  a  rich  man  to  enter, 
and  there  are  conditions  sometimes  which 
make  it  seemingly  as  hard  for  the  poor 
to  enter.  With  all  that  may  be  said  of 
the  joy  of  struggle,  every  soul  of  man 
must  sometimes  long  for  a  place  where 
he  can  entrench  himself  and  know  that 

89 


^hc  /Secret  of 


what  is  with  us  is  more  than  all  that 
can  be  against  us. 

Some  have  held  that  to  admit  the 
imperfection  of  ordinary  happiness  is 
to  deny  that  it  can  be.  They  say  that 
these  common  sources,  where  we  profess 
to  have  found  a  substantial  measure  of 
happiness,  really  play  us  false.  The 
satisfaction  of  sense  and  mind  and  heart 
are  admittedly  incomplete,  and  so  it  is 
futile  to  count  on  them  at  all.  Better 
confess  the  failure  of  life  to  measure 
up  to  man's  needs.  That  is  hke  saying 
that  half  a  loaf  is  no  bread,  or  even 
worse  than  no  bread.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  —  to  take  once  more  the  way  of 
courage  —  it  adds  an  interest  to  life 
that  happiness  is  incomplete  and  uncer- 
tain. If  we  could  always  predict  our 
good  and  bad  fortune,  and  could  tell  the 
issue  of  each  day,  we  would  lose  often 
what  is  the  real  joy  of  surprise.  Hobbes 
stated  a  fact  of  experience  when  he  de- 
clared that  men  are  never  less  at  ease 

90 


^appinesjSi 


than  when  most  at  ease,  and  the  progress 
of  the  race  has  depended  on  that  fact. 
If  the  common  sources  of  happiness  are 
imperfect  and  precarious,  it  is  a  call  not 
to  despise  them,  but  to  seek  if  there  has 
been  left  out  another  element,  and  to 
ask  if  there  may  be  a  secret  of  happiness 
which  may  turn  the  very  imperfection 
into  a  deeper  source  of  joy  and  peace. 

To  look  back  over  the  way  by  which 
man  has  come,  we  see  that  life  begins 
with  the  primitive  instinct  of  self  which 
drives  to  satisfy  desire,  to  seek  food  and 
the  other  needs  of  life.  On  that  has 
grown  the  social  sense,  bringing  new  en- 
joyments, fuller  life  and  a  larger  self. 
It  has  been  practically  discovered  that 
even  enlightened  selfishness  will  take  into 
account  this  social  sense  and  cannot  for 
its  own  sake  neglect  social  duty.  But 
human  nature  just  as  truly  shows  signs 
of  moving  under  the  impulse  of  some- 
thing higher  than  the  impulse  of  pleas- 

91 


^he  Secret  of 


ure.  Men  are  driven  to  make  choices 
often  against  self-interest,  against  mani- 
fest personal  gain.  The  great  problem 
of  life  arises  out  of  this  dual  nature,  and 
there  is  conflict  between  an  ideal  which 
we  acknowledge  and  a  desire  which  we 
feel.  There  is  a  higher  against  which 
the  lower  wages  incessant  warfare,  de- 
scribed in  classic  form  as  flesh  lusting 
against  spirit.  When  we  make  deliber- 
ate choice  of  the  lower,  we  feel  somehow 
that  we  have  sinned  against  a  law  of  our 
own  nature,  and  done  violence  to  our 
own  true  self,  and  so  we  suffer  a  sense 
of  loss.  We  taste  something  of  the  real 
sin  of  sacrilege.  If  on  the  other  hand 
we  choose  the  higher  at  any  cost,  at  loss 
of  immediate  pleasure  or  gain,  and  re- 
spond to  the  urgency  of  conscience,  we 
enter  into  peace  and  feel  that  it  was  for 
this  we  were  born. 

This  imperative  passes  under  many 
names  —  duty,  justice,  right,  truth — • 
and  the  noblest  souls  of  the  race  have 

92 


^appinc5i!8i 


known,  and  have  acted  under  the  knowl- 
edge that 

Because  right  is  right,  to  follow  right 
Were  wisdom  in  the  scorn  of  consequence. 

What  makes  it  not  only  possible  but 
sometimes  inevitable  that  one  man  should 
die  for  the  people?  That  was  said  by 
a  worldly  ecclesiastic  who  used  it  as  an 
argument  for  crucifying  Christ;  but 
the  strange  thing  is  that  he  bowed  to 
the  principle  in  words,  as  Christ  did 
in  effect.  Why  should  men  willingly 
suffer  for  others?  Why  should  a  true 
man  make  sacrifice  for  love  of  truth? 
It  is  playing  with  words  to  try  to  de- 
scribe the  noblest  acts  in  history  in 
terms  of  selfishness,  however  refined  and 
enliffhtened  we  make  selfishness.  Gener- 
osity,  sympathy,  sacrifice,  devoted  love 
are  not  explained  by  any  principle  that 
the  whole  duty  of  man  is  to  live  and  let 
live.  It  is  quite  true  that  civilised  so- 
ciety demands  virtues,  which  in  the  main 

93 


^hc  /-Secret  of 


and  in  the  long  run  are  identical  with 
those  which  a  wise  regard  for  personal 
happiness  will  also  produce.  Justice, 
temperance,  consideration  for  others, 
even  mercy  and  kindness  would  be  the 
common  product  of  both  theories.  But 
in  every  life  there  come  times  of  crisis 
when  a  man  must  deliberately  choose  be- 
tween the  advantage  of  self  and  the 
welfare  of  others,  when  he  must  risk 
everything  at  the  call  of  conscience.  It 
is  precisely  by  such  ventures  that  the 
world  has  been  lifted  forward  in  its 
steep  ascent. 

There  can  be  no  true  or  permanent 
happiness  so  long  as  we  believe  that  this 
demand  of  our  liigher  life  is  unnatural. 
All  the  lower  fountains  of  earthly  hap- 
piness are  poisoned  at  their  source,  if  we 
can  believe  that  here  life  plays  us  false. 
Sooner  or  later  we  are  thrown  back  on 
our  fundamental  faith  about  the  world 
and  our  fundamental  attitude  towards 

94 


^crppme^ss 


life.  The  great  cleavage  of  men  Is  not 
along  the  line  of  our  common  divisions 
into  rich  and  poor ;  nor  into  learned  and 
Ignorant ;  nor  into  believing  and  unbe- 
lieving. Some  of  our  common  divisions 
are  accidental,  and  some  are  merely  ap- 
parent. All  men  have  to  walk  and  live 
by  faith.  All  are  compelled  to  make 
certain  presuppositions  before  they  can 
begin  to  think  or  to  act.  When  our 
thoughts  or  actions  are  based  on  judg- 
ments of  probability  merely,  as  happens 
with  much  scientific  investigation  and 
much  practical  business,  we  are  building 
on  faith  as  truly  as  the  religious  man 
does  In  his  worship.  It  is  not  a 
question  of  faith  or  unbelief.  It  is  faith 
anyway,  and  the  only  question  is  what 
kind  of  faith  and  on  what  it  builds.  We 
can  see  how  In  the  long  run  the  whole 
problem  of  happiness  depends  on  where 
the  foundation  of  life  Is  laid. 

The  ultimate  division  of  mankind  is 
into   optimists   and   pessimists.    This   Is 

95 


^hc  ^ccrci  of 


obscured  to  us  by  the  fact  that  both 
words  are  used  for  surface  moods.  There 
is  a  surface  sort  of  optimism,  got  by 
shutting  the  eyes  to  facts,  and  which 
whistles  to  keep  its  courage  up.  It  is 
a  common  trick  for  men,  both  in  prac- 
tice and  in  speculation,  to  purchase 
peace  by  eliminating  all  the  things  that 
would  disturb  peace.  Much  of  our 
practical  materialism,  content  with  what 
the  hands  can  gather  and  the  senses 
enjoy,  is  born  of  this  surface  optimism. 
When  there  is  trouble  in  life  or  in  the 
business  world  its  plan  is  to  create  a 
spurious  confidence  by  declaring  that 
all  is  well  and  all  will  be  well.  On  the 
other  hand  there  is  a  surface  pessimism 
which  is  merely  cynical  criticism  of  men 
and  events.  It  is  sometimes  an  affecta- 
tion, and  sometimes  simply  a  mood  of 
mind.  But  this  ultimate  division  means 
something  deeper  and  goes  down  to  the 
roots  of  life.  When  we  are  done  with 
verbiage  and  are  done  with  clouding  the 

96 


rSbccj^pinc&si 


issue,  we  realise  that  either  life  is  some- 
thing that  we  have  the  right  to  be  hope- 
ful about,  or  something  of  which  we  have 
the  right  to  despair.  It  has  to  do  with 
the  kind  of  world  we  can  conceive  our- 
selves to  be  living  in  —  or,  if  you  like, 
the  kind  of  world  we  will  ourselves  to 
live  in. 

On  one  side,  the  world  with  all  its 
mystery  and  its  unreadable  riddles  is 
accepted  as  rational  and  with  something 
in  it  we  can  speak  of  as  purpose.  We 
do  not  see  the  end  from  the  beginning, 
or  rather  from  our  place  in  the  process, 
but  an  end  we  believe  there  is.  We  be- 
lieve that  the  world  means  something  and 
means  something  good.  We  have  a 
firm  basis  on  which  to  stand,  and  have 
faith  in  the  moral  order  of  the  world. 
Human  life  becomes  something  other  than 
a  game  of  chance,  or  than  a  struggle  of 
cunning  or  force.  On  this  footing  we 
can  trust  the  world ;    we  can  trust  life ; 

97 


^hc  ^ecrcl  of 


we  can  trust  ourselves.  We  can  believe 
in  the  future.  We  can  see  meaning  in 
the  past  and  purpose  in  the  present. 
The  great  words  of  human  history  — 
conscience,  duty,  sacrifice  —  are  justi- 
fied by  the  nature  of  things  and  by  the 
nature  of  man.  The  common  sources  of 
happiness  in  the  activities  of  life,  in  the 
performance  of  work,  in  the  natural  re- 
lations and  ties  of  affection,  in  the  out- 
flow of  all  the  powers  and  capacities  — 
these  common  sources  become  assured  by 
this  central  faith.  The  water  from  these 
fountains  would  be  bitter,  if  there  were 
no  perennial  fountain  from  which  they 
are  fed.  They  are  not  illusion,  because 
the  world  is  not  illusion.  With  this  cen- 
tral faith  in  the  moral  order,  we  enter 
into  peace  and  find  the  secret  of  per- 
manent joy. 

On  the  other  side,  whether  we  talk  of 
chance  or  the  fortuitous  concourse  of 
atoms,  or  a  series  of  fortunate  coinci- 
dences to  explain  the  world  and  man,  it 

98 


^appincs^ei 


means  a  universe  that  has  no  sense  to 
it,  no  purpose,  no  rational  meaning  or 
end.  It  may  well  have  an  end  in  time  — 
and  indeed  the  sooner  the  better  —  but 
there  is  no  end  in  purpose.  There  is 
no  understanding  in  it,  and  so  nothing 
real  on  which  we  can  stand.  It  is  a 
sort  of  nightmare,  a  weird  welter  under 
the  pitiless  stars,  going  nowhere,  mean- 
ing nothing.  Human  life  is  made  of 
stuff  that  such  dreams  are  made  of.  It 
too  can  have  nothing  that  we  have  the 
right  to  speak  of  as  purpose.  We  are 
only  as  bubbles  that  appear  on  the 
surface  of  a  silly  stream  —  appear  and 
burst.  We  may  well  be  pessimists  in 
such  a  plight.  The  common  joy  from 
life  is  poisoned.  We  see  with  clear  eyes 
how  precarious  it  is,  and  when  it  fails 
there  is  nothing  left.  It  is  haunted  by 
vanity  while  it  lasts,  and  the  only  sure 
thing  about  it  is  that  it  cannot  last. 
Without  faith  in  the  moral  order  of  the 
world,  there  is  no  world  at  all.    How  can 

99 


^Kc  ^ccrci  of 


#^ 


a  rational  man  be  happy  in  such  an  irra- 
tional universe  ?  Why  should  we  learn 
to  move  to  duty  as  a  ship  turns  to  the 
steersman's  touch?  There  is  no  steers- 
man, and  the  ship  has  no  haven.  The 
best  we  can  do  is  to  cultivate  a  cynical  J 

attitude.  The  last  word  on  life  is 
Thomas  Hardy'  s  last  word  in  his  great  i 

novel,  "  The  President  of  the  Immortals 
had  ended  his  sport  with  Tess." 

Both  optimism  and  pessimism  can 
produce  an  array  of  facts  and  argu- 
ments. Optimism  begins  with  a  healthy 
faith  in  experience  and  finds  satisfac- 
tion in  the  lower  reaches.  From  that  it 
moves  to  faith  in  the  higher  forms  of 
human  nature,  and  faith  in  the  whole 
scheme  of  things.  Pessimism  can  point 
to  disease  and  death,  the  injustice  and 
oppression  of  man,  the  callousness  and 
often  the  cruelty  of  nature.  It  seems 
to  want  to  prove  a  malignant  principle 
in  the  universe.  There  is  justification 
in  either  position.     In  neither  case  is  it 

100 


a  matter  of  formal  proof.     It  is  a  mat- 
ter of  faith,  which  in  one  of  its  aspects 
is  a  venture  of  the  soul  on  life.     We  are 
practically  saying  that  this  is  the  kind 
of  world  we   give   ourselves   to   live  in. 
It  is  the  great  presupposition  we  make 
for  life.     We  can   see  how  closely   the 
question  of  happiness  depends   on   this 
ultimate  faith.     If  the  world  be  as  pes- 
simism paints  it,  the  only  logical  out- 
come is  practical  materialism  in  life  and 
a  brutal  reahsm  in  theory.     There  is  no 
room  for  those  higher  sentiments,  which 
will  make  it  only  harder  for  one  to  get 
his  share  in  the  scramble.     If  the  whole 
can  be  pictured  in  the  figure  of  an  anvil 
and  a  hammer,  the  chief  care  should  be 
to  make  sure  that  one  will  not  play  the 
part  of  the  anvil.     One  can  at  least  try 
to  do  the  striking.     The  only  adequate 
motto  for  such  a  world  is  the  one  at  the 
entrance  to  Dante's  hell : 

AH  hope  abandon,  ye  who  enter  here. 
101 


^hc  Secret  of 


This  faith  that  the  world  means  good 
may  not  be  able  to  be  proved  formally, 
but  it  is  the  secret  of  happiness,  and  it 
justifies  itself.  It  provides  its  own 
proof  in  experience,  which  after  all  is 
the  only  conclusive  proof  of  anything. 
The  common  wisdom  of  men  declares 
that  even  in  this  world  things  have  a  way 
of  righting  themselves.  The  harsh  and 
unforgiving  get  back  what  they  give,  so 
that  we  believe  the  world  is  built  that 
way.  History  discloses  retributive 
functions,  and  there  is  an  instinct  in 
the  race  which  can  only  be  satisfied 
thus.  The  loveless  man  does  not  find  his 
life  grow  richer  by  a  fuller  dower  of 
love.  Idealism  is  born  of  the  inward 
conviction  that  the  spiritual  side  of  life 
is  true.  This  faith  proves  itself  when 
it  is  put  to  the  proof.  Thus  the  true 
secret  of  happiness  is  alone  found  by 
religion.  All  the  age-long  contrasts  be- 
tween the  inner  and  the  outer  find  their 
explanation  here,  and  if  we  are  right  in 

102 


'Sbctfcpine^iS- 


seeing  the  final  division  of  life  as  we 
have  described  it,  it  remains  true  now  as 
ever  that  to  be  without  God  is  to  be 
without  hope  in  the  world.  Without 
something  which  we  can  call  religious 
faith  in  the  meaning  of  life  there  is  no 
chance  for  happiness,  and  at  the  best  all 
our  efforts  are  a  pathetic  make-belief  of 

jo  J-  ^ 

It  is  natural  that  we  should  look  here 

for  the  secret  of  happiness.  Happiness 
after  all  is  an  inward  feeling,  a  state  of 
the  soul,  an  attitude  of  the  life.  Even 
if  we  define  it  as  produced  by  pleasur- 
able sensation  we  are  in  another  realm, 
that  of  self-consciousness.  It  is  more 
than  satisfaction  of  desire;  it  is  satis- 
faction of  self.  So  it  is  not  merely  a 
matter  of  excess  of  pleasure  over  pain, 
as  so  many  writers  have  asserted.  Even 
the  pleasure-seeker  is  blindly  seeking 
something  bigger,  to  realise  self  as  Aris- 
totle taught.  This  is  another  thing 
than  mere  satisfaction  of  appetite,  and 

103 


^Kc  Secret  of 


that  is  why  bc^'ond  the  common  sources 
of  happiness  wc  are  forced  to  look  for 
this  secret  of  happiness  in  the  inward 
life.  When  wc  have  exhausted  the  natu- 
ral sources,  we  still  are  unsatisfied  be- 
cause we  are  built  on  a  plan  too  big  that 
we  could  find  complete  peace  there.  A 
Frenchman  saw  a  ragged  pauper  spend 
his  last  few  centimes  on  a  lottery  ticket 
and  asked  him  how  he  could  coimnit  such 
a  folly,  "  In  order  to  have  something  to 
hope  for,"  he  replied.  Man  is  more,  as 
Carlyle  said,  than  a  vulture  flying 
through  the  universe  seeking  something 
to  cat  and  shrieking  tlolefully  because 
carrion  enough  is  not  given.  There  is 
no  way  out  that  way.  "  Love  not  pleas- 
ure; love  God.  This  is  the  Everlasting 
Yea,  wherein  all  contradiction  is  solved: 
wherein  whoso  walks  and  works,  it  is 
well  with  him." 

In  the  early  fairy  tales  of  almost  all 
nations  there  is  one,  in  which  an  ointment 
is  put  on  one  eye  in  the  abode  of  the 

104 


Sdctpfiirxe^^ 


fairies  by  which  things  are  seen  quite 
differently.  Sometimes  a  seeming  hovel 
is  seen  to  be  a  palace,  and  ugliness  be- 
comes beauty,  and  all  things  become  rich 
and  rare  with  gold  and  precious  stones; 
sometimes  it  is  the  opposite,  and  what 
appears  a  palace  is  transformed  into  a 
dismal  abode  of  wretchedness.  It  is  true 
that  the  mind  can  be  a  kingdom  inde- 
pendent of  outside  fortune,  and  that  the 
quality  of  happiness  depends  on  this 
inward  quality  of  the  soul.  Also,  noth- 
ing less  than  this  radical  change  of  the 
whole  point  of  view  towards  life  can 
solve  the  problem  of  human  unhappiness. 
As  Jeremy  Taylor  said  wittily,  you  can- 
not cure  a  colic  by  brushing  a  man's 
clothes. 

Faith  is  sometimes  looked  on  as  if  it 
were  mere  opinion,  of  no  special  value, 
and  with  no  vital  connection  with  the 
rest  of  life.  That  can  only  be  when  it  is 
not  faith,  not  the  principle  by  which  we 

105 


^hc  .Sccrci  of 


live,  and  on  which  our  world  is  standing. 
True  creed  and  conduct  have  a  way  of 
approaching  each  other  and  affecting 
each  other,  till  they  reach  harmony.  In 
Augustine  we  see  a  keen  spirit  drowning 
itself  in  the  pleasure  of  sense.  The 
story  of  his  life  in  his  Confessions  re- 
veals the  close  connection  between  a 
man's  moral  life  and  his  intellectual 
position.  His  life  drove  him  to  seek 
a  philosophy  in  which  he  could  rest,  and 
for  long  he  tried  to  satisfy  himself  intel- 
lectually with  a  dualism  which  would 
permit  the  tragic  dualism  of  his  nature, 
giving  a  place  for  his  eager  spirit  and 
for  his  sense-loving  flesh.  He  never 
got  away  from  the  memory  of  his 
mother  and  the  ideal  of  purity  and  love 
which  her  gracious  Christian  life  had 
revealed,  and  again  he  saw  the  same 
ideal  in  Ambrose,  Bishop  of  Milan. 
When  the  crisis  came,  his  conversion  was 
a  change  of  life  and  a  change  of  view. 
It  is  not  possible  to  separate  the  two, 
106 


^crppine^^ 


and  to  say  which  is  the  deciding  factor. 
Real  creed  affects  conduct;  and  the 
manner  of  life  affects  the  view  of  life. 
But  in  any  case  a  man's  faith  is  central; 
for  it  means  the  principles  in  which  his 
life  is  run,  the  ground  on  which  he 
stands.  It  is  often  unconscious,  but  it 
is  none  the  less  a  force,  though  not 
brought  out  into  definite  form  and  stated 
in  particular  words.  Most  men  really 
believe  in  the  world  as  religion  conceives 
it ;  for  they  act  as  if  they  believed. 
When  the  faith  becomes  conscious,  they 
experience  a  new  joy,  and  they  add  to 
life  a  new  security  and  a  new  motive. 
Pleasures  may  be  possible  in  any  view  of 
the  universe,  but  happiness  can  only 
persist  if  we  believe  that  life  does  not 
play  us  false.  It  reflects  itself  in  our 
view  of  the  outward  world  and  gives  a 
foundation  for  Wordsworth's  cheerful 
faith. 

Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her;  'tis  her  privilege, 

107 


^hc  .-Secret  of 


Through  all  the  years  of  this  our  life,  to  lead 
From  joy  to  joy:  for  she  can  so  inform 
The  mind  that  is  within  us,  so  impress 
With  quietness  and  beauty,  and  so  feed 
With  lofty  thoughts,  that  neither  evil  tongues. 
Rash  judgments,  nor  the  sneers  of  selfish  men. 
Nor  greetings  where  no  kindness  is,  nor  all 
The  dreary  intercourse  of  daily  life, 
Shall  e'er  prevail  against  us,  or  disturb 
Our  cheerful  faith,  that  all  which  we  behold 
Is  full  of  blessings. 

Religion  takes  a  deeper  note  still 
from  its  faith  in  the  worth  of  life  and  in 
the  purpose  of  the  world,  born  of  its 
faith  in  the  love  of  God.  This  is  the 
essence  of  the  teaching  of  Jesus  on  God's 
Fatherhood,  It  means  that  love  is  the 
redeeming  power  of  the  world,  and  is 
also  the  clue  to  the  maze  of  life.  It 
means  that  we  are  not  here  in  a  world  of 
unreason,  the  hapless  victims  of  blind 
chance  or  blinder  fate  —  most  hapless 
of  all  earthly  things,  because  we  alone 
are  conscious  of  our  doom.  Christ  has 
given  the  lie  to  all  godless  creeds  that 

108 


JSi)ctpfiine&^ 


shut  us  out  from  love  and  hope.  It 
means  that  we  are  in  a  spiritual  world, 
a  world  of  reason  and  right.  Nay  more, 
we  are  in  the  hands  of  eternal  love.  This 
is  the  deep  down  source  of  the  never- 
ending  ministry  of  Christian  consola- 
tion. This  is  how  Christ  dries  the  tears 
of  humanity,  not  by  healing  the  hurt 
lightly  on  the  surface,  but  by  an  essen- 
tial revelation  of  God's  nature  which 
floods  light  and  joy  over  all  the  world. 
If  we  have  lost  the  joy,  it  is  because 
we  have  not  taken  possession  of  our 
kingdom  of  love,  and  the  passion  and 
wonder  of  it  have  not  taken  possession 
of  us.  If  we  are  living  under  a  leaden 
sky,  it  is  because  our  faith  is  not  flower- 
ing out  in  the  sunshine  of  God's  love, 
radiant  with  the  joy  of  possessing  that 
love. 


109 


"©he 
^!^rt  of  ^ctppmcd5S 


^  — ^ 


God  gives  the  birds  their  food,   but   He 
does  not  throw  it  into  their  nests. 

Greek  Proverb. 


i  H 


I. 


^    ,^ 


i^" 


1^/"    -'-i 


w 


'^hc  "^vi  of 


x^' 


THERE  is  an  art  of  happiness, 
which  is  like  the  art  of  Hving.  No 
Hst  of  rules  can  cover  all  the 
ground ;  for  life  does  not  go  in  straight 
lines,  and  never  runs  exactly  accord- 
ing to  schedule.  There  is  also  a  per- 
sonal equation,  a  peculiar  angle  from 
which  each  looks  at  life.  It  is  a  question 
if  any  art  can  be  taught,  beyond  certain 
broad  principles  and  general  rules.  The 
rest  has  to  come  through  constant  prac- 
tice and  through  the  enrichment  of  the 
mind,  aided  by  inspiration  and  example 
and  a  little  counsel.  Some  get  more  from 
teaching  than  others,  though  all  can  get 
something,  if  only  through  the  opportu- 
nity to  reconsider  methods  and  examine 
results.  Everyone  will  probably  ac- 
knowledge that  he  has   not   completely 

113 


'Uhe  'MH  of 


mastered  the  art  of  happiness,  and  that 
he  might  have  made  more  of  life  if  he 
had  known  better.  So,  there  are  some 
general  rules  which  may  be  stated,  each 
of  which  may  apply  to  some  though  not 
to  all.  There  is  a  wisdom  which  is  rather 
joyless;  for  it  comes  too  late.  Experi- 
ence manages  to  get  the  lessons  in  some- 
how, but  often  it  costs  too  much.  "  If 
youth  only  knew :  if  age  only  could !  " 
is  a  French  saying,  almost  as  sad  as  it  is 
wise.  It  suggests  that  life  is  exhausted 
before  the  art  of  living  is  learned,  and 
that  men  find  out  how  they  might  have 
been  happy  rather  than  how  they  can  be. 
Not  only  is  this  art  different  with  dif- 
ferent people,  but  it  is  different  with  the 
same  people  at  different  times.  Each 
period  of  life  has  its  own  peculiar  pleas- 
ures, as  it  has  its  own  tasks  and  its  own  ,ij 
ideal.  A  happy  childhood  is  a  precious 
possession  and  carries  a  light  through 
all  the  subsequent  years,  but  it  is  largely 
the  creation  of  others,  though  it  is  more 

114 


/ 


happiness 


independent  of  circumstances  than  many 
imagine.  Of  all  gifts  there  is  none  more 
gracious  than  a  happy  childhood.  Many 
a  man  is  held  all  his  life  by  the  memory 
of  a  paradise  lying  back  in  his  life.  We 
may  well  seek  to  give  children  that  Eden 
to  which  they  can  look  back,  even  though 
we  know  it  will  become  a  lost  Eden.  By 
a  right  instinct  we  seek  to  make  young 
life  happy,  not  only  because  it  is  their 
birthright,  but  also  for  its  moral  power 
over  all  the  years  to  come.  We  are  not 
always  wise  in  the  methods  we  employ, 
and  indeed  it  is  a  separate  art  in  itself, 
and  the  only  way  to  learn  it  is  to  go  to 
the  child  himself  to  learn.  Give  children 
love,  and  they  will  create  their  own  beau- 
tiful world  out  of  the  simple  and  natural. 
After  childhood  is  youth  with  its  hopes 
and  enthusiasms,  themselves  the  source  of 
much  happiness  often  more  than  when 
the  hopes  are  realised.  The  problem 
here  is  to  save  the  waste  of  power,  to 
keep  youth  from  recklessly  squandering 

115 


'®Kc  "Mvl  of 


its  gifts,  and  throwing  away  its  oppor- 
tunities. The  art  of  happiness  depends 
much  on  the  formation  of  habits  and  the 
regulation  of  desires.  The  next  stage  is 
manhood  and  womanhood  with  their 
serious  tasks.  The  art  to  be  learned 
then  is  how  to  carry  the  burdens,  and  do 
the  work  of  life,  and  stand  up  under  the 
responsibilities.  Then  comes  old  age, 
that  may  be  serene  and  gracious,  having 
learned  to  "  see  hfe  steadily  and  see  it 
whole."  It  dught  to  be  the  harvest  time 
of  the  soul,  laden  with  the  spoils  of 
Hfe. 

Perhaps  the  first  lesson  is  to  learn  to 
accept  limitations,  not  only  the  limita- 
tions of  each  stage  of  life,  but  also  the 
limitations  of  one's  own  lot  and  nature. 
The  virtues  of  one  age  may  be  the  vices 
of  another.  It  makes  the  judicious 
grieve  to  see  youth  prematurely  old,  or 
to  see  age  affecting  the  airs  and  follies 
of  youth,  playing  with  burnt-out  pas- 

116 


jSi)ctpfincs!& 


sions.  Half  the  secret  of  an  art  is 
learned  when  we  know  its  limits.  The 
sculptor,  who  never  seems  to  accept  the 
limitations  of  statuary,  who  thinks  he 
can  make  it  do  what  oil  painting  does 
naturally,  bites  his  nails  fruitlessly  and 
never  learns  his  job.  Yet,  this  counsel 
to  accept  limitations  and  recognise  facts 
is  not  so  simple  as  it  looks ;  for  the  very 
things  that  are  not  sure  to  us  are  facts, 
and  we  never  know  the  limits  till  we  try. 
All  the  time  the  boundaries  get  pushed 
out,  and  old  records  are  smashed,  and 
new  limits  are  set.  The  world  moves  by 
a  disdain  of  mediocrity  and  the  restless 
launching  of  the  soul  for  unknown 
worlds.  True,  there  is  often  the  mistake 
which  assumes  that  the  common  is  the 
commonplace,  but  as  often  men  lose  the 
large  because  they  never  try  for  it. 
Many  lose  happiness  because  they  think  JJ 

it  is  not  for  them.     They  seem  to  look  ' 

upon  it  as  like  wealth,  of  a  limited 
amount  and  most  unequally  distributed. 

117 


'®;hc  atCrf  of 


The  whole  problem  of  the  art  of  hap- 
piness lies  here  in  this  simple  rule  to 
learn  to  accept  limitations.  But  what 
are  the  limits  of  happiness  itself,  and 
what  are  our  own  personal  and  special 
limitations? 

A  man  may  be  satisfied  by  one  of  two 
methods  —  either  by  getting  what  he 
wants,  or  by  wanting  what  he  gets.  The 
former  method  is  the  first  natural  one 
for  man  —  to  reach  out  the  hands  for 
everything  which  the  heart  craves.  It  is 
a  method  without  any  end  to  it,  insati- 
able, like  filling  a  sack  with  holes.  The 
method  has  its  place  in  evolution ;  for 
progress  comes  along  the  line  of  desire, 
and  a  certain  divine  discontent  has  led 
men  out  from  the  safe  and  the  known  to 
make  great  ventures  and  explore  new 
shores.  But  its  limits  are  certain.  The 
second  method  must  come  in  sooner  or 
later  to  save  a  life  from  dissipation.  It 
means  the  acceptance  of  the  inevitable,  to 
recognise  the  limits,  to  acknowledge  con- 

118 


JSi>ctfifiirte&Sf 


ditions  and  the  stern  facts.  It  only 
wounds  the  feet  to  kick  against  the 
pricks  of  necessity.  This  method  means 
the  education  of  desire,  and  some  dis- 
cipline of  the  will.  "  Is  it  not  better," 
asked  the  great  Stoic  Emperor,  "  to  use 
what  is  in  thy  power  like  a  free  man, 
than  to  desire  in  a  slavish  and  abject  way 
what  is  not  in  thy  power  ?  "  In  this  view 
the  ideal  becomes,  not  that  we  should 
have  what  we  want,  but  that  we  should 
want  what  we  ought  to  have. 

We  all  learn  more  or  less  to  moderate 
desires.  It  sounds  like  a  sad  confession 
to  make,  but  we  cannot  advance  in  the 
art  of  happiness  till  we  are  prepared  to 
do  this.  It  may  not  be  so  sad  as  it 
sounds ;  for  many  desires  are  foolish 
and  impossible,  from  the  time  when  the 
child  cries  for  the  moon.  If  nothing  but 
the  moon  will  satisfy  him,  there  can  be 
no  end  to  the  crying.  It  is  not  that  we 
set  the  goal  too  high,  but  that  often  it  is 
no  true  goal  at  all.    When  we  accept  our 

119 


'©Kc  'Mvl  of 


limitations,  we  at  least  have  a  chanee  of 
really  achieving  something.  When  we 
get  down  from  our  high  horse,  we  at 
least  have  our  feet  on  realities.  If  we 
let  expectations  run  too  far  ahead,  any- 
thing will  be  a  disappointment.  If  we 
look  for  high  ecstasy  and  endless  exal- 
tation in  any  condition  of  life,  we  are 
sure  of  some  dark  moments  when  the 
world  turns  black.  Carlyle's  sardonic 
humour  may  have  a  lesson  for  us  in  this 
matter,  "  Fancy  thou  deservest  to  be 
hanged  (as  is  most  likely)  thou  wilt  feel 
it  happiness  to  be  only  shot :  fancy  thou 
deservest  to  be  hanged  in  a  hairhalter,  it 
will  be  a  luxury  to  die  in  hemp." 

This  suggests  a  very  simple  piece  of 
practical  wisdom  —  to  learn  to  appre- 
ciate the  compensations  of  life.  Every- 
body has  to  bow  to  the  inevitable  —  or 
break  —  but  not  everybody  learns  to 
make  use  of  the  inevitable.  When  we  do, 
we  often  find  that  the  shutting  of  one 

120 


JSi)<xfifiinc^i^ 


door  makes  the  opening  of  another  pos- 
sible. We  cannot  refrain  admiration 
from  the  man  who  makes  the  most  of 
what  he  is  and  has.  Here  it  is  we  find 
the  great  difference  among  men. '  We  are 
given  to  explaining  a  man's  success  by 
declaring  that  he  was  born  lucky,  and  we 
satisfy  our  conceit  in  failure  by  saying 
that  we  had  bad  luck.  One  man  is  born, 
we  think,  under  a  beneficent  star: 
another  finds  that  the  stars  in  their 
courses  fight  against  him.  Most  of  this 
talk  is  idle,  though  it  is  true  that  oppor- 
tunities seem  lavished  on  some,  while 
others  hardly  get  a  chance  in  life.  But 
while  this  affects  worldly  success,  yet 
happiness  is  not  dependent  on  shining 
success.  There  are  many  more  oppor- 
tunities for  a  reasonable  happiness  than 
there  are  for  brilliant  success  in  life. 

All  places  that  the  eye  of  heaven  visits 
Are  to  a  wise  man  ports  and  happy  havens; 
Teach  thy  necessity  to  reason  thus; 
There  is  no  virtue  like  necessity. 

121 


'Uhe  -Mvl  of 


Shakespeare  makes  John  of  Gaunt  give 
this  advice  to  his  son  BoHngbroke,  sen- 
tenced to  exile  by  the  king.  There 
may  be  happy  havens  even  for  an 
exile.  When  we  meet  our  fate  frankly 
we  discover  that  much  remains,  and 
that  even  there  are  many  new  com- 
pensations. 

Contentment  with  one's  lot  is  a  large 
part  of  the  art  of  happiness.  Some 
moralists  recommend,  as  the  method  of 
attaining  this,  a  habit  of  comparing  the 
lot  with  less  fortunate  ones  still. 
Lucretius  has  a  passage  which  carries 
this  contrast  right  up  to  the  things  of 
the  mind.  "  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to 
behold  from  the  shore  the  dangers  of 
another  upon  the  mighty  ocean,  when 
the  winds  are  lashing  the  sea:  not  be- 
cause it  is  a  pleasure  for  any  one  to  be 
in  misery,  but  because  it  is  a  pleasant 
thing  to  see  those  misfortunes  from 
which  you  yourself  are  free.  It  is  also 
a  pleasant  thing  to  behold  the  mighty 

122 


jSt)ctppinc^fSi 


contests  of  warfare,  arrayed  upon  the 
plains,  without  a  share  in  the  danger. 
But  nothing  is  more  delightful  than  to 
occupy  the  high  temples  of  the  wise, 
fortified  by  tranquil  learning,  whence 
you  may  be  able  to  look  down  upon 
others,  and  see  them  straying  in  every 
direction,  and  wandering  in  search  of 
the  path  of  life."  This  passage  evi- 
dently impressed  Lord  Bacon,  though 
he  says  the  prospect  should  be  viewed 
with  pity  and  not  with  pride. 

It  is  rather  a  dangerous  source  of 
comfort  for  a  man  to  reflect  on  the 
greater  misfortunes  of  others.  That 
would  be  to  make  the  dismal  slums  of  a 
city  a  place  of  happiness  for  all  the 
rest  of  the  citizens.  It  is  poor  consola- 
tion to  a  man  in  distress  to  see  others 
more  forlorn  still,  and  suffering  greater 
misery  than  himself.  To  the  gentle 
heart  it  only  adds  to  the  pain  to  know 
that  men  are  enduring  greater  pain. 
Yet  there  is  something  in  this  thought 

123 


'©He  li}ivi  of 


.  of  comparison.     It  is  the  comfort  of  a 

warm  fire  and  a  snug  room  while  the 
wind  is  howHng  outside  or  the  snow  is 
falling.  We  can  usually  say  about  any- 
thing that  befalls  us  that  it  might  have 
been  worse.  A  contented  spirit  does 
learn  to  count  up  blessings  and  set  them 
over  against  deprivations,  as  a  mer- 
chant adds  his  gains  as  well  as  his  losses. 
We  do  learn  not  to  cry  over  spilt  milk, 
and  to  try  to  carry  the  next  pitcher 
more  carefully.  Those,  who  are  always 
comparing  their  poverty  with  the  wealth 
of  others,  always  thinking  of  their  disad- 
vantages and  never  of  their  benefits,  can 
never  be  conspicuous  for  happiness. 
While  those,  who  are  grateful  for  what 
they  have,  and  rather  compare  it  with  (  jj  if 
lower  states,  learn  a  measure  of  content- 
ment. 

This  is  one  of  the  gracious  things 
religion  often  does  for  a  man,  giving  a 
humble  thankful  spirit,  teaching  grati- 
tude for  daily  mercies,  even  for  daily 

124 


JSbctpf(inc^i& 


bread.  It  is  the  part  of  wisdom,  as  well 
as  of  religion,  to  see  the  good  of  life, 
and  to  recognise  the  blessings  of  our 
lot.  We  may  well  count  the  cultivation 
of  this  habit  as  part  of  the  art  of  hap- 
piness. How  little  we  have  done  for 
ourselves,  and  how  much  has  been  done 
for  us.  We  have  entered  into  the 
labours  and  sacrifices  of  others,  and  are 
partakers  of  a  rich  inheritance.  It  is 
fitting  that  we  should  train  ourselves  in 
a  grateful  habit  of  mind.  Gibbon  in  his 
Memoirs  expresses  this  sentiment  in  his 
own  rather  superior  way,  "  My  lot 
might  have  been  that  of  a  slave,  a 
savage,  or  a  peasant ;  nor  can  I  reflect 
without  pleasure  on  the  bounty  of  na- 
ture, which  cast  my  birth  in  a  free  and 
civilised  country,  in  an  age  of  science 
and  philosophy,  in  a  family  of  honour- 
able rank,  and  decently  endowed  with 
the  gifts  of  fortune."  Without  any 
supercilious  tone  we  may  cultivate  some- 
thing of  the  same  point  of  view,  and  be 

125 


'©He  'Mvl  of 


grateful  for  our  blessings  and  oppor- 
tunities. 

Allied  to  this,  is  to  learn  to  enjoy 
experiences  and  pleasures  while  they 
last.  Our  best  gifts  are  unrecognised 
till  they  are  taken  from  us.  This  is 
specially  true  of  the  common  gift  of 
health,  which  we  take  as  a  matter  of 
course,  but  it  is  also  true  of  many  other 
gifts.  Often  we  only  realise  how 
gracious  a  friendship  has  been,  when 
we  have  lost  it.  When  the  well  runs  dry, 
we  begin  to  put  a  value  on  common 
water.  An  enjoying  nature  has  usually 
this  faculty  of  keen  appreciation  of  the 
things  of  the  present.  Most  of  us  let 
the  occasions  go  past.  We  know  that 
we  ought  to  have  been  happy  last  year 
or  month  or  week  in  circumstances  now 
gone,  which  we  realise  would  mean  great 
happiness  now.  Why  should  we  wait  till 
some  calamity  comes,  before  we  will  see 
the  blessings  we  possess  and  might 
enjoy    if   we    would?      In    every    mind 

126 


^ctppmc^ss 


there  are  lumps  of  knowledge  never  as- 
similated and  never  really  understood; 
and  in  every  life  there  are  experiences 
and  states  never  realised.  Nothing  in 
the  world  lasts,  and  we  might  meanwhile 
practise  the  habit  of  appreciating  our 
blessings  while  they  last.  This  is  a 
large  part  of  the  art  of  happiness. 

It  seems  like  a  contradiction  of  all 
that  has  been  said,  and  a  denial  of 
there  being  anything  worth  calling  an 
art  of  happiness,  to  say  now  that  the 
sure  way  not  to  get  happiness  is  to  seek 
it  with  a  single  eye.  It  seems  to  be  an 
accepted  part  of  the  world's  wisdom  that 
happiness  should  not  be  deliberately 
sought.  All  the  best  things  in  life  can 
be  stated  in  paradox,  and  so  we  need  not 
wonder  that  we  should  find  a  statement 
of  the  paradox  of  happiness.  As  Pro- 
fessor Sidgwick  put  it,  to  get  pleasure 
one  must  forget  it.  We  are  told  that  if 
we  want  to  be  happy,  we  must  dismiss  it 

127 


'^hc  "Mvi  of 


from  our  minds,  we  must  try  for  some- 
thing else,  and  this  will,  or  may,  come  to 
us  by  the  way.  There  is  a  great  truth 
in  the  paradox  of  happiness,  but  it  is 
not  the  surface  truth  most  people  read 
into  it.  If  it  were  true  that  happiness 
is  an  end  worth  attaining  and  yet  that  it 

must  not  be  sought,  it  would  be  an  incon- 

V  //  ^  ceivable  paradox.  It  would  be  like  noth- 
ing else  in  the  world.  In  other  things  we 
say  that  if  a  man  wants  a  particular  kind 
of  harvest  he  must  sow  for  it. 

A    true    paradox    is    not    simply    a 
iji\  shocker,  a  wilful  overstatement  designed 

-"^  to  startle,  an  exaggeration  which 
amounts  to  error  —  it  is  a  short  cut  to 
a  truth.  If  you  think  over  such  a 
paradox  and  note  its  applications,  you 
see  that  it  is  really  a  profound  state- 
ment of  what  is  essentially  true,  a  prin- 
ciple that  includes  many  applications. 
The  most  sublime  paradox  ever  uttered 
is,  "  He  that  will  lose  his  life,  the  same 
shall  save  it."     The  truth  of  it  is  at- 

128 


JSt>ctfifiinei^^ 


tested  in  endless  ways  in  every  region  of 

life,    not    only    in    philosophy,    but    in 

practise.     Parsimony  is  bad  policy.   The 

rich  joyous  outgoing  and  outgiving  life 

is  the  life  that  is  ever  receiving.     Even  ' 

in  such  a  practical  sphere  as  courage, 

the  paradox  holds  the  key  to  safety  — 

the  man  who  is  afraid  is  the  man  who  is 

hit.     A  paradox  is  the  very  opposite  of  U       / 

a  proverb.    The  proverb  crystallises  the 

practical   wisdom   of   common   life,   and 

sums  it  up  in  a  caution.     The  paradox 

cuts   below   the   surface,   and    reveals    a 

principle  that  is  seen  to  explain  a  lot  of 

seemingly     disconnected     facts.       Man 

creates  a  proverb:    he  can  only  see  a 

paradox.  |1 

The  profound  paradox  of  Jesus,  that 
he  that  loveth  his  life  shall  lose  it,  reveals 
the  foundation  of  human  life;  and  the 
paradox  of  happiness  is  only  part  of  the  ,/ 

larger  one.  As  a  matter  of  experience 
the  selfish  life  fails :  it  is  cursed  with 
barrenness.      The    life   that    spends    it- 

129 


^hc  iSiivi  of 


self  in  service  reaps  a  daily  harvest  of 
joy.  You  cannot  store  up  happiness,  as 
you  can  gather  wheat  into  a  bam.  This, 
because  it  is  not  a  passive  state,  receiv- 
ing joy  from  without,  but  a  condition 
of  activity.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  in- 
come, but  of  output.  If  that  is  its  very 
nature,  we  can  see  why  selfishness  in- 
variably fails.  It  fails  also  because  it 
is  sure  to  look  upon  happiness  as  merely 
a  question  of  pleasure,  whereas  hap- 
piness may  come  through  what  the 
selfish  would  call  pain. 

The  proof  of  the  paradox  is  seen  in 
life.  One  man  sets  himself  to  get.  Self 
is  to  him  the  first  dog  in  the  hunt.  His 
life  may  not  be  stained  by  any  gross  evil 
or  made  hateful  by  any  great  cruelty, 
but  it  is  frankly,  if  not  brutally,  selfish. 
He  is  ever  thinking  of  that  sweet  gentle- 
man self,  to  give  him  a  soft  nest  and  an 
easy  lot.  On  the  face  of  it  such  a  life 
is  menaced  at  every  point  by  pitfalls,  all 
of  which  he  cannot  possibly  escape.    He 

130 


^«ppme«« 


will  find  It  harder  to  satisfy  and  please 
his  exacting  self.  The  early  thrills  can- 
not be  repeated.  The  pleasurable  sen- 
sations and  experiences  grow  poorer  and 
thinner.  He  can  reap  none  of  the  fruits 
of  the  generous  heart.  He  Is  sucked  In 
by  the  hell  of  selfishness.  In  loving  his 
life  he  has  lost  It.  Another  man  has 
simply  been  doing  his  duty,  and  not  only 
fulfilling  daily  tasks,  but  spending  him- 
self In  service.  Every  good  cause  has 
commanded  him.  He  has  given  of 
strength,  and  time,  and  love,  and  money. 
He  has  not  been  searching  for  pleasure, 
but  without  fear  or  self-seeking,  has 
sought  the  good  of  others.  Such  a  life 
grows  richer  with  years,  richer  In  peace 
and  strength  within,  and  dowered  with 
light  and  love  at  every  step.  In  losing 
his  life  he  has  found  it,  and  found  hap- 
piness with  it. 

From  this  paradox  of  happiness  two 
further   rules   in   the   art   of   happiness 

131 


'©he  "Mvi  of 


emerge.  It  is  thus  we  explain  the  golden 
rule  of  moderation.  Happiness  is  to  be 
judged,  as  life  itself  is  to  be  judged, 
by  its  purpose.  Excess  is  evil,  chiefly 
because  it  destroys  higher  faculty  and 
unfits  for  the  larger  life.  It  kills  the 
very  function  and  devours  itself,  and  so 
destroys  even  its  own  happiness.  The 
senses  make  the  intellectual  life  possible, 
and  for  the  sake  of  that  life  they  need 
to  be  restrained  and  kept  as  the  servant 
of  the  mind.  Moderation  is  the  condi- 
tion of  even  preserving  a  faculty.  In- 
dulgence will  ruin  the  power  to  which  a 
man  is  looking  for  happiness.  "  I  want 
your  eye  to  be  so  sensitive,"  says  Ham- 
erton,  "  that  it  shall  discern  the  faintest 
tones  of  a  grey  cloud,  and  yet  so  strong 
that  it  shall  bear  to  gaze  on  a  white  one 
in  the  dazzling  glory  of  sunshine.  I  would 
have  your  hearing  sharp  enough  to  de- 
tect the  music  of  the  spheres,  if  it  were 
but  audible,  and  yet  your  nervous  system 
robust  enough  to  endure  the  shock  of  the 

132 


V 


^«ppmc«« 


guns  on  an  ironclad.  To  have  and  keep 
these  powers  we  need  a  firmness  of  self- 
government  that  is  rare."  If  modera- 
tion be  a  rule  for  the  healthful  exercise 
of  a  faculty,  to  preserve  its  freshness, 
and  if  it  be  necessary  for  a  full  and  pro- 
longed intellectual  life,  still  more  is  it 
necessary  for  the  largest  life  of  the 
complete  man.  The  senses  need  to  be 
kept  not  only  as  the  servant  of  the  mind, 
but  also  as  the  servant  of  the  soul.  The 
quality  of  a  life's  happiness  depends  on 
its  purpose.  If  a  man's  ends  transcend 
mere  personal  pleasure,  of  course  he 
must  be  prepared  for  discipline  there, 
and  if  need  be  for  sacrifice.  Where  he 
puts  the  weight  of  his  life,  is  the  place 
where  he  will  find  his  joy.  Where  the 
treasure  is,  there  will  the  heart  be  also. 
Just  because  we  seek  a  man's  life  in  the 
fullest  sense,  we  will  not  waste  on  sense 
what  was  meant  for  life.  Said  Fuller, 
"  Moderation  is  the  silken  string  running 
through  the  pearl-chain  of  all  virtues." 

133 


'©he  "Mvi  of 


The  other  rule  is  that  in  bringing 
happiness  to  others  a  man  will  find  it  for 
himself  also.  We  cannot  live  a  human 
life  alone.  So  much  of  our  life  consists 
of  our  relations  with  others,  that  if  these 
relations  are  wrong  there  is  bound  to  be 
unhappiness.  Selfishness  therefore  can 
never  really  succeed.  If  our  best  joy 
comes  from  the  common  life,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  one  who  has  no  real  share  in  the 
common  life.  In  the  exercise  of  love,  in 
the  overflow  of  good-will,  comes  natural 

joy. 

Find  out  men's  want  and  will 
And  meet  them  there.     All  worldly  joys  go 

less 
To  the  one  joy  of  doing  kradnesses. 

Once  more  we  see  how  happiness  is  allied 
to  the  purpose  of  a  life.  If  a  man's  pur- 
pose is  bigger  than  any  possible  per- 
sonal success  or  ambition  or  culture,  if 
he  too  dreams  the  dream  of  the  Kingdom 
of  God  which  sums  up  the  highest  social 
ideal,    his    happiness    lies    in    bringing 

134 


^appincsid 


righteousness,  and  peace,  and  love,  and 
joy  to  the  whole  world. 

To  say  that  the  highest  purpose  is  to 
give  happiness  to  others  does  not  mean 
what  we  often  make  it  mean,  as  if  it  were 
only  a  bread  and  butter  scheme.  The 
ideal  is  more  than  health,  and  pros- 
perity, and  plenty.  The  ideal  for  others 
is  the  same  as  the  ideal  for  self,  a  fully 
rounded  life.  Our  contribution  to  the 
world's  welfare  must  be  more  than  min- 
istering to  it  in  material  things.  The 
counsel  to  find  our  happiness  in  giving  it 
to  others  means  that  we  must  seek  the 
best  for  them.  A  father  finds  his  joy  in 
making  his  children  happy,  but  he  would 
be  a  poor  father  who  construed  this  as 
indulging  every  whim  and  providing  for 
every  wish.  It  is  the  best  and  highest 
happiness  of  his  children  he  desires,  and 
this  may  include  restraint  and  correction 
where  they  are  needed,  as  well  as  giving 
pleasure  in  the  usual  ways.  A  friend 
finds  joy  in  making  his  friend  happy, 

135 


'©he  l&ivi  of 


but  he  would  be  a  poor  friend  who 
thought  he  must  do  this  by  flattery.  He 
loves  the  best  in  his  friend,  and  wishes 
the  best  for  him.  He  will  give  encour- 
agement without  stint,  and  be  generous 
in  estimate,  and  kind  in  all  things,  but 
he  will  not  betray  true  friendship  by 
choosing  the  soft  and  easy  way.  The 
leader  of  men  —  in  affairs,  or  states- 
manship, or  teaching  —  finds  joy  in  in- 
creasing the  happiness  of  the  people,  but 
he  would  be  a  poor  leader  who  only  spoke 
smooth  words,  or  who  was  content  to  see 
the  people  satisfied  with  bread  and 
games.  He  will  speak  the  truth  in  love, 
and  will  point  to  great  ends.  The  King- 
dom of  God  is  more  than  meat  and  drink 
—  and  nothing  less  is  good  enough  for 
the  sons  of  men.  V—^'^ 

f  .        .     ^ 

There  are  two  other  subjects  which 
ought  to  be  referred  to,  however  briefly, 
subjects  of  immense  importance  in  this 
connection  —  that  of  habit  and  that  of 

136 


jSbct:pj^lrtei^i^ 


temperament.  The  value  of  right  habits 
is  evident  for  the  art  of  happiness,  as 
for  the  art  of  life.  We  cannot  trust  to 
instincts  and  chance  desires.  Habit  is 
built  up  by  repeated  action  till  it  has 
become  as  we  say  a  second  nature,  and 
when  once  established  the  circle  is  com- 
plete —  the  acts  strengthening  the  habit, 
and  the  habit  producing  the  acts.  To 
be  the  sport  of  every  whim  and  the 
creature  of  wayward  desires  is  to  become 
the  mere  victim  of  pleasure,  and  that 
must  be  the  end  of  any  chance  of  hap- 
piness ;  for  it  really  means  the  forma- 
tion of  habits  that  kill  the  true  life. 
Even  when  good  habits  are  formed,  in- 
cluding habits  of  mind,  there  will  be 
eruptions  of  desires  that  are  idle  or  evil, 
frivolous  or  vicious ;  but  these  have  ever 
less  and  less  power  against  the  panoply 
of  moral  habit.  After  a  time  a  man 
moves  to  duty  like  a  well-handled  ship, 
and  he  chooses  the  best  without  com- 
motion  of  soul   at  each  decision.      He 

137 


'^Kc  ^vl  of 


learns  to  turn  his  mind  and  his  life  where 
happiness  alone  is  found.  When  such 
habits  are  formed  there  comes  a  sense 
of  security,  which  itself  brings  a  measure 
of  peace. 

This  whole  subject  is  often  ruled  out 
of  court  as  merely  a  matter  of  tempera- 
ment. One  man  is  of  a  cheerful  happy 
disposition,  another  is  naturally  melan- 
choly or  gloomy.  For  the  one  the  so- 
called  art  is  merely  nature,  and  for  the 
other  it  is  impossible.  It  is  true  that 
men  differ  in  bodily  constitution  and 
mental  make-up.  A  Mark  Tapley  finds 
it  hard  to  be  anything  but  jolly,  and 
needs  to  look  for  opportunities  to  show 
his  jolly  disposition  and  to  come  out 
strong.  Whereas  a  man  like  Amiel 
easily  settles  into  a  rooted  melancholy, 
which  may  be  partly  physical  and  partly 
from  the  disease  of  thought.  Such  a 
man  may  even  know  his  temptation,  and 
may  strive  vainly  against  it.  Amiel  tells 
us    that    on    reading   over   part    of   his 

138 


^appmc)$d 


Journal,  on  which  his  fame  rests,  he  felt 
ashamed  of  the  languid  complaining 
tone  of  so  much  of  it.  He  finds  that 
with  him  sadness  takes  up  the  pen  more 
readily  than  joy.  Nothing  could  be  fur- 
ther removed  from  the  cheerful  man  of 
affairs.  Perhaps  the  best  that  could  be 
asked  of  him  would  be  to  keep  a  stiff 
upper  lip  and  a  brave  face  before  the 
world,  though  there  was  no  sort  of 
gaiety  within  —  but  even  that  he  did  not 
do  or  could  not  do. 

A  good  deal  of  silly  stuff  has  been 
written  about  temperament,  coming 
down  to  us  from  the  ancient  psychology 
which  gave  the  world  the  four  classical 
types  of  Temperament,  dividing  man- 
kind into  the  sanguine,  the  choleric,  the 
phlegmatic,  and  the  melancholy.  Like 
some  other  divisions,  it  may  be  prac- 
tically convenient,  so  long  as  we  do  not 
look  upon  it  as  scientific.  The  mistake 
usually  made  is  to  think  of  temperament 
as  a  single  and  fixed  condition.     As  a 

139 


^hc  '2H:iri  of 


fact  the  elements  of  human  nature  are 
mixed,  and  all  sorts  of  capacities  are 
bound  up  in  the  one  bundle.  No  one 
man  is  all  feeling,  or  all  soul,  or  all  sen- 
sibility, though  we  speak  thus  popularly. 
The  only  truth  about  the  types  of  Tem- 
perament is  that  in  the  jarring  medley 
there  emerges  a  certain  quality  which 
seems  to  preponderate.  Often  a  little 
thing  will  alter  the  proportion.  A  great 
faith  has  turned  a  melancholy  man  into 
the  most  choleric,  as  he  buckled  on  his 
armour  for  a  noble  fight  against  evil 
conditions.  The  most  phlegmatic  man 
in  bodily  constitution  I  happen  to  know 
is  also  the  most  sanguine.  The  solemn 
books  on  the  Four  Temperaments  are 
usually  belated  specimens  of  an  effete 
psychology.  If  even  Amiel  had  a  faith 
which  made  him  in  tune  with  the  general 
order,  or  had  given  himself  up  in  the 
service  of  a  great  purpose,  he  would 
have  known  peace  and  gathered  hope. 
Even  taking  this  question  of  tempera- 
140 


^ctppmcsd 


ment  at  its  worst,  there  always  remains 
the  opportunity  and  the  duty  of  making 
the  most  of  the  particular  type.  The 
melancholy  man,  who  may  despise  the 
sanguine  as  shallow,  does  not  need  him- 
self to  be  peevish  or  morose.  He  need 
not  think  that  his  superior  type  of  tem- 
perament excuses  him  for  being  a  wet 
blanket  in  every  company.  The  phleg- 
matic man,  who  prides  himself  on  his 
solidity,  could  be  less  stolid,  and  indif- 
ferent to  the  pleasures  and  pains  of 
others.  The  choleric  man  need  not  see 
red  everywhere,  and  let  his  hot  blood 
surge  in  his  veins,  and  boil  over  on  all 
occasions.  The  sanguine  need  not  be  a 
child  in  levity,  and  cackle  with  cheap  wit 
like  thorns  under  a  pot.  Something  can 
always  be  done  to  cultivate  habit  and 
train  temperament.  Progress  in  art 
means  more  than  recognising  limitations : 
it  means  working  within  the  limits  and 
making  the  best  of  them. 


141 


©traces  of  ^appineiSiS 


^ 


The  secret  pleasure  of  a  generous  act  is  a 
great  mind's  great  bribe. 

Dryden. 


I// 


\ '  (--.. 


V\ 


Jj    i^'^ 


^hc  (S)tra&C55  of 


i 


SENTIENT  life  has  developed 
through  the  simple  teaching  of 
sensation.  The  animal  quite  natu- 
<i\  rally  avoids  pain  when  possible,  and 
moves  to  the  impulse  of  pleasure.  In  the 
region  of  human  life  there  are  complica- 
tions unknown  in  the  lower  forms,  be- 
cause of  the  higher  self-consciousness, 
and  because  of  the  greater  difficulty  of 
finding  harmony  with  the  complete  self 
and  with  the  larger  social  life.  It  is  not 
easy  to  say  what  it  means  to  trust  to 
sensation ;  for  man  has  so  many  forms 
of  sensation  and  so  many  different  de- 
sires to  satisfy.  The  result  is  a  scale 
of  values,  grades  of  happiness  of  vary- 
ing worth.  Men  practically  recognise 
higher  and  lower  pleasures.  It  does  not 
mean  that  those  lower  in  the  scale  are 

145 


)ll) 


^hc  (S)ra&C)5  of 


\ 


worthless  in  view  of  the  higher,  but  that 
they  are  of  less  worth  to  him  as  man. 
Along  this  line  we  get  insight  into  the 
true  nature  of  happiness. 

The  first  natural  scheme  for  a  satisfied 
life  is  to  take  what  lies  to  hand,  to  please 
the  senses  as  a  child  does,  responding  to 
instinct  and  moving  to  desire.  Many 
men  practically  live  in  a  child's  world, 
having  never  advanced  beyond  the  first 
lessons  of  the  primer  of  life.  The  needs 
of  nature  come  first  in  time,  and  the 
danger  is  that  this  natural  possession  be 
allowed  primacy.  The  protest  of  re- 
ligion, which  sometimes  goes  the  length 
of  contempt  for  material  things,  is  made 
necessary  by  the  fact  that  men  are  so 
easily  absorbed  in  the  life  of  sense.  But 
apart  from  the  religious  protest  in  the 
name  of  the  soul,  there  is  recognised  a  . 

gradation  in  the  quality  and  worth  of 
different  pleasures.  There  is  a  scale  of 
judgment  which  is  the  instinctive  creed  ^ 

of  mankind.    Men  feel  that  they  are  ap-  ^ 

146 


^ctppmciss 


pealing  from  a  lower  to  a  higher  court, 
when  they  appeal  from  the  physical  to 
the  intellectual,  from  the  intellectual  to 
the  moral,  from  the  moral  to  the 
spiritual.  This  is  accepted  whatever  be 
our  theory  of  the  origin  of  mind,  or  of 
conscience,  or  of  religion.  Experience 
gives  this  scale  of  values,  and  men  ac- 
knowledge that  some  pleasures  are  higher 
than  others.  The  bigger  we  make  our 
definition  of  happiness,  as  complete 
satisfaction  or  as  human  well-being,  the 
more  inevitable  are  these  distinctions  in 
the  quality  of  pleasure. 

If  life  were  lived  entirely  on  the 
physical  plane,  the  happy  man  would  be 
he  whose  natural  needs  have  been  met 
and  satisfied.  We  learn  from  experience, 
however,  that  needs  are  not  limited  to 
bodily  desire.  It  is  not  enough  for  a 
man  to  be  nourished  and  sheltered,  so 
that  he  can  sleep  in  well-fed  satiety.  He 
may  have  a  mind  that  craves  for  know- 
ledge, tastes  that  demand  the  beautiful, 

147 


^hc  (B>vabe^  of 


a  heart  that  asks  for  love,  a  conscience 
that  urges  to  ever  nobler  constraints. 
Normal  man  as  we  find  him  does  hunger 
and  thirst  after  things  that  we  generalise 
as  truth,  beauty,  righteousness.  If  need 
be,  he  is  willing  to  go  without  something 
in  the  lower  sphere,  in  order  to  satisfy 
some  higher  desire.  Men  have  been 
happy  —  confessedly  and  obviously 
happy  —  who  yet  have  known  privation, 
and  hardship,  and  want.  That  is  to  say, 
they  have  received  satisfaction  in  the 
regions  where  they  counted  it  alone 
worth  while. 

Even  the  philosophy,  which  accepts 
happiness  as  the  end  of  life  and  which 
seems  to  have  little  room  for  conscience 
or  soul;,  makes  distinctions  in  the  quality 
of  the  happiness,  and  seeks  to  give  life 
a  motive  by  advocating  the  higher  pleas- 
ures as  better  and  more  lasting  than  the 
lower.  John  Stuart  Mill  states  this 
gradation  of  pleasure  in  what  is  almost 
its  classic  form.     "  It  is  an  unquestion- 

148 


JSi)ctfifiirte&& 


able  fact  that  those  who  are  equally 
acquainted  with,  and  equally  capable  of 
appreciating  and  enjoying  both,  do  give 
a  marked  preference  to  the  manner  of 
existence  which  employs  their  higher 
faculties.  Few  human  creatures  would 
consent  to  be  changed  into  any  of  the 
lower  animals  for  a  promise  of  the  fullest 
allowance  of  a  beast's  pleasures ;  no 
intelligent  human  being  would  consent  to  1 1 
be  a  fool,  no  instructed  person  would  be 
an  ignoramus,  no  person  of  feeling  and 
conscience  would  consent  to  be  selfish  and 
base,  even  though  they  should  be  per- 
suaded that  the  fool,  the  dunce,  or  the 
rascal  is  better  satisfied  with  his  lot  than 
they  are  with  theirs.  ...  A  being  of 
U  \\  high  faculties  requires  more  to  make  him 
happy,  is  capable  probably  of  more  acute 
suffering,  and  is  certainly  accessible  to 
it  at  more  points  than  one  of  an  inferior 
type;  but  in  spite  of  these  liabilities  he 
can  never  really  wish  to  sink  into  what 
he  feels  to  be  a  lower  grade  of  existence." 

149 


f^.. 


^hc  (B>rabes>  of 


Apart  from  all  question  why  this 
should  be,  Mill  was  stating  a  fact  that 
there  is  a  distinction  in  quality  and  that 
in  our  estimates  we  rise  in  a  sort  of 
crescendo  from  faculties  we  consider 
lower  to  faculties  we  accept  as  higher. 
It  does  not  follow  that  pleasure  increases 
in  exact  ratio  to  the  value  of  the  sphere 
where  we  look  for  it.  Often  indeed  the 
judgment  of  men  has  been  that  increase 
of  knowledge  has  meant  increase  of 
sorrow.  Some  confusion  has  been 
created  here  by  a  false  definition  of  hap- 
piness and  a  lack  of  understanding  of  its 
true  nature.  If  happiness  is  merely  the 
satisfaction  of  desire  it  might  be,  in  spite 
of  Mill's  eloquent  contention,  that  the 
pleasures  of  a  sot  would  be  as  valid  as 
the  pleasures  of  a  philosopher.  If  hap- 
piness is  the  satisfaction  of  desire  it 
might  seem  wise  to  curtail  desire,  to  re- 
fuse new  ventures  and  be  content  with 
the  lowest  plane  of  life.  This  would  give 
room  for  a  new  beatitude.  Blessed  are 

150 


^appmc«« 


they  who  desire  nothing  and  expect 
little ;  for  they  shall  not  be  disappointed. 
But  if  happiness  depends,  as  psychology 
suggests,  on  the  exercise  of  all  kinds  of 
human  function  and  is  connected  with 
vital  energy,  then  the  ideal  is  wrong 
which  looks  to  the  extinction  of  desire. 
The  mere  avoidance  of  pain  is  only 
the  negative  pole,  and  by  itself  would 
make  the  end  of  life  the  extinction  of 
hfe. 

We  have  to  confess  that  the  further 
out  man  dares  to  go,  the  more  he  risks, 
and  the  more  chance  there  is  to  experi- 
ence danger  and  even  shipwreck.  Pascal 
said  that  misfortunes  befall  men  because 
they  do  not  know  enough  to  stay  quietly 
at  home.  To  most  men  that  would  be 
impossible  anyway ;  for  the  needs  of  life 
and  the  work  of  life  force  them  out.  The 
life  that  is  wrapped  in  cotton-wool  and 
sheltered  in  a  hot-house  can  vegetate  in 
peace,  but  that  is  no  ideal  for  man.  It 
is  true  that  the  cultivation  of  sensation 

151 


^hc  (S)rabc5i  of 


makes  the  feelings  more  sensitive,  and 
therefore  adds  the  risk  of  pain  as  well  as 
pleasure.  It  is  true  that  the  cultivation 
of  feeling  reacts  on  the  intellect,  and 
therefore  brings  new  sources  of  unhap- 
piness  as  well  as  of  happiness  and  new 
diseases  of  thought  as  well  as  new  vigour 
of  thought.  It  is  true  that  the  cultiva- 
tion of  reason  increases  the  complete 
jf  I !  life,  and  therefore  can  drown  the  soul  in 
sorrow  as  well  as  lift  it  up  in  the  fulness 
of  joy.  But  after  all  the  way  of  a  man 
is  to  seek  a  man's  life.  To  circumscribe 
life  and  limit  desires  and  reduce  hopes  is 
necessary  for  happiness  as  it  is  neces- 
sary to  accomplish  anything,  but  to 
elevate  that  practical  piece  of  wisdom 
into  the  chief  place  would  reduce  itself 
to  absurdity.  A  brave  soul  can  do  with 
little,  and  a  noble  mind  can  dispense 
with  much,  but  they  can  also  use  every- 
thing. They  know  how  to  abound,  and 
how  to  suffer  want.  The  highest  hap- 
piness is  not  passive  contentment,  but 

152 


'3 


^appmc/Sifli 


comes  from  a  certain  divine  discontent. 
It  is  the  fruit  of  the  expanding  life,  the 
enrichment  of  nature  through  new 
experience. 

This  discovery  that  there  are  grades 
of  happiness  and  that  some  rank  higher 
than  others  does  not  mean  a  denial  of 
the  relative  worth  of  those  which  we 
frankly  class  as  lower.  The  "  worldly 
joys  "  do  dwindle  in  comparison  with  the 
finer  and  rarer  happiness,  but  they  have 
their  place  in  human  life.  In  dealing 
with  the  sources  of  happiness  we  saw 
that  the  satisfaction  of  sense  was  valid 
not  only  in  itself,  but  as  the  basis  for 
all  other  possible  activity.  All  who  make 
any  distinction  place  the  social  pleasures 
above  physical  appetite,  and  even  above 
the  intellectual  delights  of  personal  cul- 
ture. At  any  rate,  from  our  very  na- 
ture, true  human  happiness  is  impossible  ji 
in  isolation.  The  self-centred  life  loses 
the  expansion  of  joy  which  comes  from 
frank  intercourse  and  from  simple  ser- 

153 


-^ 


^hc  (S)trabcs  of 


vice.  It  is  part  of  the  essential  paradox 
of  the  spiritual  life  that  the  soul  grows 
poorer,  the  more  we  clutch  happiness  to 
our  own  bosom.  The  richer  the  giving, 
the  richer  the  giver.  As  a  matter  of 
common  experience  we  learn  that  the 
purest  joys  are  found  in  the  satisfaction 
of  the  affections,  in  the  home-life,  in 
friendship,  and  in  the  other  relations  and 
associations  and  mutual  service  which 
make  up  so  much  of  life.  A  true  man 
learns  to  subordinate  private  interest 
and  personal  pleasure  to  these  wider  in- 
terests, and  he  finds  much  of  his  happi- 
ness there. 

If  pleasure  accompanies  the  outflow  of 
energy,  we  would  expect  that  the  quality 
of  the  energy  will  affect  the  quality  of 
the  pleasure.  A  high  place  will  there- 
fore be  given  to  intellectual  satisfaction. 
There  are  pleasures  of  imagination  and 
mind,  joys  that  await  every  candidate 
who  seeks  to  enter  the  world  of  thought. 

154 


>.^ 


^appmc0;9 


Even  the  labour  of  intellectual  tasks,  ar- 
duous as  it  is  and  endless  as  it  ever 
seems,  is  intensely  attractive.  It  is  as 
if  we  needed  to  be  tempted  to  higher 
things  ;  for  it  seems  a  law  that  the  higher 
the  power  the  keener  the  pleasure.  Too 
often  this  whole  subject  is  treated  as  if 
the  intellectual  life  meant  the  passive 
absorption  of  knowledge.  The  ideal 
seems  to  be  a  sponge  that  can  soak  in 
erudition.  There  is  no  outgoing  of  en- 
ergy, no  activity,  no  exercise  of  skill, 
no  growth.  There  is  little  wonder  that 
to  most  people  these  vaunted  joys  of 
knowledge  are  a  dreadful  bore.  If  we 
keep  hold  of  our  principle  that  happi- 
ness comes  from  activity,  we  will  not 
look  for  it  except  as  there  is  some  ex- 
pansion of  energy.  This  explains  the 
pleasure  of  the  artist  in  creating,  which 
is  more  than  the  enjoyment  of  natural 
beauty.  The  intellectual  life  does  not 
consist  in  simply  gathering  a  store  of 
facts   and  truths,  but  in  the  effort  to 

155 


^Kc  (S>vabc^  of 


understand,  and  to  know,  and  to  build 
a  world  of  thought.  "  It  is  not  eru- 
dition that  makes  the  intellectual  man, 
but  a  sort  of  virtue  which  delights  in 
vigorous  and  beautiful  thoughts  just  as 
moral  virtue  delights  in  vigorous  and 
beautiful  conduct."  It  is  a  natural  law, 
which  ordains  pleasure  for  the  sweat  of 
brain  as  for  the  sweat  of  brow.  Fail- 
ure to  understand  this  explains  why 
people  tire  even  of  the  pleasure  of  read- 
ing. To  many,  reading  is  merely  a  re- 
laxation from  other  work,  and  there  is 
a  place  for  tliis  as  mere  recreation.  If 
most  readers,  however,  were  candid  they 
would  declare  that  this  method  of  at- 
taining happiness  so  widely  recom- 
mended, is  greatly  overrated.  The  re- 
sult is  that  most  reading  consists  of 
pretty  light  stuff  and  is  treated  frankly 
as  a  mere  pastime.  Most  do  not  really 
believe  the  judgments  that  have  so  often 
been  passed  that  the  pleasures  of  knowl- 
edge far  exceed  all  other  pleasures.    The 

156 


f! 


.^'Trfi 


^«ppmc«« 


reason  is  that  for  them  it  does  not  go 
anywhere  or  do  anything. 

Of  course  there  is  a  legitimate  place 
for  recreation,  and  in  our  hardly-driven 
modern  life  this  is  more  of  a  necessity 
than  ever.  Much  depends  on  where  we 
look  for  recreation.  A  pursuit  of  intel- 
lectual interests  is  a  safeguard  to  life. 
Much  of  the  moral  danger  associated 
//     j  j     with  recreation  comes  from  vacancy  of  ^i\  J 

life.  Many  of  the  sins  of  youth  are 
due  to  sheer  emptiness,  and  the  lack  of 
intellectual  interests.  If  young  men  had 
something  better  to  do,  they  would  not 
spend  their  evenings  aimlessly  tramping 
the  streets  or  stewing  in  billiard  saloons. 
A  life  without  resources  and  a  mind  with- 
out interests  are  the  easy  prey  of  temp- 
tation. Many  a  man  has  kept  his  foot 
on  the  neck  of  evil  passion  by  his  love 
of  intellectual  pursuits.  In  the  Auto- 
biography of  Mark  Rutherford  there 
is  the  story  of  his  struggle  against  the 
growing  temptation   of   wine.      He   had 

157 


V 


^hc  (S)rabe55  of 


been  suffering  bodily  and  mentally,  and 
a  doctor  recommended  stimulants,  which 
at  first  gave  relief,  but  soon  created  a 
craving  which  was  getting  the  better  of 
him.  He  resolved  never  to  touch  wine 
except  at  night,  and  kept  his  vow,  but 
he  found  that  he  looked  forward  to  the 
night  and  waited  for  it  with  eagerness. 
He  was  becoming  almost  a  helpless  vic- 
tim. "  But  one  day,  feeling  more  than 
usual  the  tyranny  of  my  master,  I  re- 
ceived strength  to  make  a  sudden  reso- 
lution to  cast  him  off  utterly.  Whatever 
be  the  consequence,  I  said,  I  will  not  be 
the  victim  of  this  shame.  If  I  am  to 
go  down  to  the  grave,  it  shall  be  as  a 
man,  and  I  will  bear  what  I  have  to 
bear  honestly  and  without  resort  to  the 
base  evasion  of  stupefaction."  It  needed 
a  hard  and  prolonged  struggle,  and  his 
judgment  was  that  he  was  able  to  con- 
quer because  of  his  susceptibility  to 
nobler  joys.  He  felt  it  a  degradation 
that  a  mind  capable  of  high  thoughts 

158 


^ 


^ct^j^irxc^^ 


should  be  chained  to  lower  things.  "  If 
we  want  to  make  men  water-drinkers,  we 
must  first  of  all  awaken  in  them  a  capac- 
ity for  being  tempted  by  delights  which 
water-drinking  intensifies."  INlany  an- 
other has  confessed  that  these  higher 
pleasures  have  saved  their  lives  from 
bondage. 


The  common  methods  of  culture  are 
usually  stated  as  observing,  reading,  and 
thinking.     Most  of  us  could  do  more  in 
i  one  or  in  all  of  these  lines,  and  thereby 

add  immensely  to  our  resources.     Many 
r  a  door  that  is  now  shut  to  us  would  be 

opened,  with  entrance  into  new  worlds 
of  beauty  and  truth,  bringing  rich  re- 
wards  in  both  wisdom  and  joy.      The 
I  man,  for  example,  who  has  exercised  ob- 

I  servation  has  at  command  a  source  not 

[  only  of  knowledge  but  of  increasing  de- 

\  light.     An  alert  observer  will  come  from 

a  country  walk,  more  than  merely  re- 
freshed in  body,  with  a  mind  stored  with 

159 


; 


^Kc  (S>v<xbc^  of 


;/i 


new  knowledge  and  imagination  stirred 
with  new  beauty.  Men  talk  more  than 
half  the  time  without  thinking,  and  think 
nearly  all  the  time  without  observing; 
and  yet  speech  to  be  worth  anything 
needs  to  be  inspired  by  thought,  and 
thought  needs  to  be  informed  and  cor- 
rected by  fact.  Nature  is  a  sealed  book 
to  many,  and  besides  other  loss  they 
lose  much  fine  enjoyment.  Each  fac- 
ulty can  be  cultivated  to  some  extent, 
and  all  can  train  themselves  in  accurate 
observation,  and  in  the  sense  of  colour 
and  form.  They  may  never  become  sci- 
entists or  artists,  but  they  can  all  de- 
velop appreciation  of  truth  and  beauty. 
Isaak  Walton,  who  had  enjoyed  much 
happiness  as  he  practised  the  gentle  art 
of  the  angler,  discoursing  of  the  daily 
blessings  we  enjoy,  asks  us  to  think  what 
a  blind  man  would  give  to  see  the  pleas- 
ant rivers  and  meadows  and  flowers  and 
fountains. 

All  that  has  been  said  of  the  training 
160 


^apfrinc^ss 


of  the  eye  applies  with  equal  force  to  the 
training  of  the  ear,  the  gate  to  so  much 
happiness  through  human  intercourse, 
or  through  the  delights  of  music,  or  the 
song  of  the  bird  or  the  ripple  of  the 
brook.  When  we  recognise  how  much 
may  be  gained  or  lost  in  these  two 
spheres,  we  are  ready  for  Bacon's  argu- 
ment :  "  As  the  eye  rej  oices  to  receive 
the  light,  the  ear  to  hear  sweet  music ; 
so  the  mind,  which  is  the  man,  rejoices 
to  discover  the  secret  works,  the  varie- 
ties and  beauties  of  nature.  The  inquiry 
of  truth  which  is  the  love-making  or 
wooing  it ;  the  knowledge  of  truth  which 
is  the  presence  of  it;  and  the  belief  of 
truth  which  is  the  enjoying  it,  is  the 
sovereign  good  of  Our  nature."  Read- 
ing has  its  chief  place  as  the  necessary 
instrument  for  an  educated  mind  to  hold 
converse  with  the  great  master-spirits  of 
the  world.  We  may  well  class  all  this 
magnificent  opportunity  high  up  in  our 
scale  of  happiness.     Men  who  have  neg- 

161 


^hc  (S)rabcs  of 


lected  this  opportunity  have  often  laid 
up  for  themselves  a  barren  old  age,  when 
they  were  compelled  to  let  go  their  ac- 
tive hold  on  life.  Sir  Robert  Walpole, 
who  had  been  Prime  Minister  of  Great 
Britain,  once  regretted  to  Fox  in  his 
library  that  he  derived  no  pleasure  from 
such  pursuits.  He  wished  he  took  as 
much  delight  in  reading  as  Fox  did ;  for 
he  might  at  least  have  been  able  to  al- 
leviate many  tedious  hours  in  his  retire- 
ment. 

Some  religious  people  think  that  they 
magnify  religion  by  pouring  contempt 
on  all  relatively  lower  sources  of  happi- 
ness. It  seems  a  poor  way  to  do  honour 
to  God  by  doing  dishonour  to  human 
nature  and  to  the  world.  It  really  dis- 
credits religion,  if  life  be  as  barren  and 
as  illusive  as  some  would  make  out.  We 
need  not,  and  we  do  not,  pretend  that 
any  or  all  of  the  world's  enjoyments 
can  fill  up  the  insatiable  human  heart, 
but  there  are   genuine   sources   of  true 

162 


^ctppmcsi^s; 


pleasure  in  the  rich  hfe  open  to  the  chil- 
dren of  men.  Goethe's  remark  that  in 
seventy-five  years  he  had  only  known 
four  weeks'  happiness  has  often  been 
quoted,  but  as  usual  our  interpretation 
is  cursed  with  literalness.  It  is  fair  to 
say  that  such  a  judgment  is  a  condem- 
nation of  many  of  the  sources  to  which 
men  look  for  perfect  happiness,  but  it  is 
not  true  either  to  life  or  to  Goethe's 
own  life  to  use  it  as  illustration  of  the 
failure  of  the  world  to  give  man  any 
true  satisfaction.  Goethe,  at  many 
periods  of  his  life,  is  himself  witness 
that  he  got  more  out  of  his  varied  ac- 
tivities than  that.  In  1777  he  wrote  to 
Lavater :  "  Let  my  present  life  continue 
as  long  as  it  will,  at  any  rate  I  have 
heartily  enjoyed  a  genuine  experience 
of  the  variegated  throng  and  press  of 
the  world,  —  Sorrow,  Hope,  Love,  Work, 
Wants,  Adventure,  Ennui,  Impatience, 
Folly,  Joy,  the  Expected  and  the  Un- 
known, the  Superficial  and  the  Profound. 

1G3 


^hc  (S>vabc^  of 


And  withal,  dear  brother,  God  be 
praised,  in  myself  and  in  my  real  aims 
in  life  I  am  quite  happy." 

Rising  higher  still  in  the  scale  of 
being,  we  reach  the  region  where  the 
great  religious  motive  works.  Here 
human  nature  can  enjoy  a  state  of 
happiness  so  complete  that  by  com- 
parison nothing  else  counts.  It  enters 
into  peace,  which  is  the  satisfaction  of 
the  soul.  This  state  also  reacts  on  the 
whole  life,  so  that  all  the  other  sources 
of  happiness  receive  a  new  validity,  and 
give  a  new  sweetness.  Complete  hap- 
piness would  be  a  perfect  harmony  of 
all  the  powers  and  faculties,  as  com- 
plete health  is  the  harmony  of  all  the 
senses.  Religion  has  often  been  de- 
fined as,  and  is  usually  confined  to,  "  the 
life  of  God  in  the  soul  of  man."  It 
smacks  of  the  time  when  the  nature  of 
man  was  divided  in  thought,  and  the 
body  was  looked  on  as  the  seat  and 
source    of   evil.      Religion   needs   to   be 

164 


^appmc^jsi 


broadened  to  take  in  the  whole  nature 
of  the  individual  and  the  complete  ac- 
tivities of  society.  It  is  rather  the  life 
of  God  in  the  life  of  man.  The  life 
that  is  hved  in  the  flesh  cannot  be  sepa- 
rated from  the  life  lived  in  the  spirit. 
Everything  in  the  higher  nature  is 
rooted  in  the  physical  world,  and  there 
is  nothing  common  or  unclean.  Health 
has  as  its  Saxon  counterpart  wholeness, 
and  even  the  great  word  holiness  comes 
from  the  same  root  idea. 

The  principles  by  which  we  would 
grade  the  varied  states  of  happiness  and 
by  which  we  would  judge  any  one  of 
them  are  first  according  to  the  purpose, 
and  secondly  according  to  the  quality 
of  permanence.  To  judge  a  thing  by 
its  purpose  is  to  judge  it  essentially, 
and  therefore  religiously.  The  satis- 
faction of  sense  for  its  own  sake,  as 
for  example  the  pleasure  of  eating  and 
drinking,  would  tuni  a  man  into  a  sen- 

165 


^\xc  (B>vabes>  of 


sualist  and  a  sot.  Similarly,  the  pleas- 
ures of  intellect  can  become  mere  self- 
ishness and  a  revolting  egotism.  Even 
the  happiness  of  worship  and  religious 
peace,  if  not  inspired  by  a  true  pur- 
pose, degenerates  and  lays  the  life  open 
to  the  subtlest  temptations.  The  sham 
spiritualisms  and  false  mysticisms  which 
have  cursed  religion  are  due  to  this 
cause.  It  is  this  standard  of  purpose 
also  which  explains  why  a  life  can  let 
go  much  seeming  happiness  in  other  re- 
gions, but  be  not  poorer  but  richer  from 
the  loss.  The  man  whose  heart  is  full 
of  the  purpose  of  service  can  use  every 
opportunity  and  every  source  of  human 
joy  without  abusing  them,  indeed  con- 
secrating them  to  his  high  end. 

The  second  principle  of  judgment  is 
according  to  the  quality  of  permanence. 
We  call  some  sources  lower  because 
they  do  not  last,  and  because  they  so 
easily  become  excess.  Too  long  pro- 
longed, or  too  often  repeated,  they  pro- 

166 


^appmciss 


duce  disgust,  and  even  destroy  them- 
selves. The  man  who  Hves  to  eat  has 
a  hard  job  to  fill  in  his  time,  and  in- 
deed soon  reaches  a  point  where  every 
sense  is  blunted.  Enough  is  better  than 
a  feast.  The  pleasures  of  the  under- 
standing are  so  much  higher,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  they  are  so  much 
more  permanent.  They  last,  and  they 
continue  to  satisfy.  In  the  lower  pleas- 
ures there  is  satiety,  and  the  freshness 
and  bloom  are  soon  lost.  But  in  the 
pursuit  of  knowledge  the  satisfaction 
creates  a  new  appetite.  The  highest 
satisfaction  of  heart  and  soul  endures, 
and  has  in  it  the  seeds  of  eternity. 

Some  teachers  have  told  us  that  men 
were  not  meant  to  be  happy  and  have 
rated  the  whole  subject  out  of  consid- 
eration. It  is  declared  to  be  an  un- 
worthy thing  even  to  desire.  This  is 
often  done  in  the  name  of  religion,  which 
is  declared  to  promise  happiness  here- 
after but  never  here.     Here  we  are  to 

167 


"©he  @)rabc;5  of 


be  good  and  virtuous  and  perform  duty 
all  as  under  the  lash  of  a  hard  task- 
master, and  as  an  ultimate  reward  hap- 
piness will  be  our  portion.  It  seems 
never  assumed  that  these  things  them- 
selves when  viewed  in  the  right  light 
may  give  pleasure  and  may  be  done  with 
joy.  Duty  is  what  one  dislikes.  We 
are  under  discipline  now  and  are  set  to 
perform  drudgery,  and  in  another  world 
we  will  get  paid  in  happiness.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  such  teachers  are  pleasure- 
lovers  of  the  first  water ;  for  they  really 
look  on  happiness  as  the  end  of  life, 
the  only  difference  being  that  it  is  not 
in  this  life.  Logically  that  would  mean 
that  this  is  not  life  at  all,  for  real  life 
could  only  be  where  the  real  end  was 
approached.  It  is  false  ethics  to  sepa- 
rate happiness  from  duty.  There  is  a 
close  connection  between  well-doing  and 
well-being.  The  ultimate  faith  on  which 
rational  optimism  rests  is  that  the  world 
is   good,   and  that  experience  does   not 

168 


^ajrpmc^iS 


contradict  the  instinct  of  the  heart  that 
happiness  and  goodness  go  together. 

It  is  not  always  in  the  name  of  re- 
ligion that  we  find  this  teaching.  We 
are  told  to  seek  not  happiness  but 
blessedness,  and  much  play  has  been 
made  on  these  two  words.  "  There  is 
in  man,"  says  Carlyle,  "  higher  than 
love  of  happiness :  he  can  do  without 
happiness  and  instead  thereof  find 
blessedness."  Happiness  is  a  generic 
word  and  expresses  all  grades  and  man- 
ners of  pleasure.  Like  many  a  word, 
it  has  voyaged  far  since  its  birth.  By 
derivation  it  means  good  fortune  merely, 
what  comes  to  a  man  by  hap,  and  is 
dependent  on  pleasant  surroundings. 
The  word,  however,  has  grown  richer  and 
fuller  and  the  meaning  has  deepened,  till 
it  can  express  the  very  state  of  mind  that 
triumphs  over  circumstances.  So  that 
it  is  really  playing  with  words  to  make 
the   distinction   between   happiness    and 

109 


^hc  (S)vctbc^  of 


blessedness.  Of  course  if  you  make 
arbitrary  definitions  of  words,  you  can 
cloud  the  real  issue  here.  There  is  a 
distinction  between  satisfaction  in  the 
outward  sphere  of  life  and  satis- 
faction in  the  inner,  between  pleas- 
ure of  sense  and  pleasure  of  mind  or 
of  soul,  but  they  are  both  happiness, 
and  nothing  is  gained  by  calling  one 
sort  blessedness.  If  a  man  is  blessed, 
we  are  only  saying  in  another  form  that 
he  is  happy.  There  would  be  no  harm 
in  the  distinction  if  there  were  not  sug- 
gested that  the  higher  kind  of  happi- 
ness is  something  supernatural.  The 
only  difference  lies  in  the  region  of  hu- 
man nature  where  the  happiness  is 
sought.  When  we  read  "  Blessed  are 
the  peacemakers  for  they  shall  be  called 
the  children  of  God,"  we  are  told  the 
sphere  in  which  they  find  their  happi- 
ness. Carlyle's  emphasis  on  blessedness 
is  only  making  the  distinction  between 
grades  of  happiness. 

170 


^ctppmcsi^ 


It  is  by  the  thought  of  purpose  that 
we  see  the  reasonableness  of  sacrifice, 
and  it  is  in  line  with  what  we  have 
seen  to  be  the  true  nature  of  happiness. 
Human  life  at  its  highest  is  full  of  sac- 
rifice, but  that  means  the  giving  up  of 
a  lower  satisfaction  for  a  higher.  Self- 
denial  is  necessary  for  the  sake  of  some 
larger  good,  as  when  a  scholar  gives 
up  some  bodily  pleasure  in  the  interests 
of  a  mental.  Self-repression  of  one  sort 
or  another  is  the  stage  of  a  truer  self- 
expression.  There  is  always  a  giving 
up  of  self  for  a  true  finding  of  self. 
The  end  in  view  is  not  the  shrinkage  of 
life  but  the  fulness  of  life.  Religion 
has  often  been  misjudged  when  it  speaks 
of  sacrifice ;  for  it  really  means  that 
the  gain  is  worth  the  loss.  Even  when 
it  looks  like  life's  impoverishment  it  is 
seeking  life's  enrichment,  and  the  re- 
straint is  for  the  joy  of  expansion. 
Sacrifice  may  even  be  accepted  in  a  mood 
of  exaltation  of  soul  which  itself  brings 

171 


^hc  (B)x:ai>cs>  of 


the  profoundest  joy.  One  for  the  joy 
set  before  him  may  be  willing  to  endure 
the  cross. 

Such  sacrifice  is  reasonable  also,  if 
happiness  is  found  in  activity,  in  the 
full  expression  of  power,  and  is  meas- 
ured not  by  intake  but  by  output.  The 
way  to  get  is  to  give.  The  thews  and 
sinews  of  strength  are  not  got  in  a 
sheltered  state,  but  by  the  exercise  of 
strength.  Tissue  is  built  up  by  the 
strain.  It  is  the  tired  nature  that  en- 
joys rest,  and  without  the  previous 
labour  rest  is  only  a  weariness.  The 
outgoing  of  force,  the  expansion  of 
energy,  the  exercise  of  skill,  are  the 
secrets  of  joy.  That  is  why  pain  is 
never  far  away  from  pleasure,  and  there 
are  states  which  can  only  be  classified 
as  a  mixture  of  both  pleasure  and  pain. 
Further  there  are  states  in  which  the 
very  pleasure  comes  through  the  pain, 
as  the  athlete  well  knows.  In  a  higher 
region  than   athletics   the   supreme  joy 

172 


^crppme^s 


of  sacrifice  Is  partly  understood  thus. 
The  passive  enjoyment  of  the  beautiful 
in  art  is  a  slight  sensation  to  the  joy  of 
producing  the  beauty,  though  it  be  at 
much  cost.  This  is  true  all  along  the 
scale  of  life.  The  child  takes  delight 
in  feeling  that  he  is  doing  something 
useful,  a  principle  that  might  govern 
our  education  more  than  it  does.  It  is 
a  commonplace  that  the  pleasure  is  usu- 
ally in  the  quest,  not  in  the  conquest ;  in 
the  struggle,  not  in  the  attainment.  In 
fox-hunting  it  is  not  for  the  death  of 
the  fox  that  a  crowd  of  sportsmen  are 
drawn  out,  but  for  the  pursuit  of  the 
fox.  Many  a  scholar  has  declared  that 
he  was  happier  in  his  search  for  truth 
than  when  he  ran  it  to  earth  and  cap- 
tured it.  It  is  an  illustration  of  the 
principle  which  we  reached,  —  that  hap- 
piness depends  on  purpose,  and  that  the 
quality  of  the  purpose  settles  the  grade 
of  the  happiness. 


173 


The  thing  in  the  world  I  am  most  afraid 
of  is  fear,  and  with  good  reason  since  that 
passion,  in  the  trouble  it  causes,  exceeds  all 
other  accidents. 

Montaigne. 


ii 


\ 


Jl 


■iji^-^ 


^hc  .S)\ictbotv  an 


IF  happiness  Is  a  state  of  the  inward 
life,  we  have  to  look  for  its  chief 
obstructions  not  in  outward  condi- 
tions but  in  deeper  places.  Happiness 
depends  in  the  last  issue,  as  we  saw,  on 
the  essential  view  of  life.  It  is  not  a 
matter  of  distractions,  nor  even  of  mere 
pleasurable  sensations.  There  may  be 
an  appearance  of  great  prosperity  with 
incurable  sadness  hidden  at  the  heart,  as 
there  is  an  outward  peace  which  is  only 
a  well-masked  despair.  The  way  to  hap- 
piness is  indeed  harder  than  the  way  to 
success ;  for  its  chief  enemies  entrench 
themselves  within  the  soul.  If  the  secret 
of  happiness  lies  in  the  region  of  faith, 
the  greatest  cause  of  failure  must  be 
there  too.  There  are  many  enemies  of 
peace  and  joy,  but  the  arch-enemy   is 

177 


^hc  ^haboTP  on 


that  state  of  mind  which  makes  joy 
impossible  and  casts  a  shadow  on  every 
step  of  the  way.  The  antithesis  of 
faith  is  fear.  The  shadow  on  the  happi- 
ness of  most  men  is  an  unspoken  dread, 
and  its  root  is  found  somewhere  in  a 
lack  of  trust  in  the  foundations  of  human 
life. 

This  lack  of  faith  transfers  itself  even 
to  the  aspect  of  outward  nature,  which  is 
viewed  in  a  depressing  mist.  The  world 
is  looked  on  as  careless  of  the  best  in- 
terests of  her  children,  or  even  as  malig- 
nant. The  universe,  of  which  we  are  a 
part,  is  declared  to  be  immoral  and  to 
favour  wrong  as  much  as  right.  The 
eternal  note  of  sadness  is  in  much  mod- 
ern writing,  and  may  well  be  if  it  is 
heard  everywhere  in  nature.  Even 
Matthew  Arnold,  who  speaks  of  a  Power 
seen  in  history  that  makes  for  right- 
eousness, often  gives  us  in  his  poetry  a 
view  of  nature  full  of  melancholy.  The 
turbid  ebb  and  flow  of  human  misery  is 

178 


^ 


appmcsi^s 


transferred  in  thought  even  to  the  tide 
of  the  sea  on  Dover  Beach. 

Ah,  love,  let  us  be  true 

To  one  another!  for  the  world,  which  seems 

To  lie  before  us  like  a  land  of  dreams. 

So  various,  so  beautiful,  so  new. 

Hath  really  neither  joy,  nor  love,  nor  light. 

Nor  certitude,  nor  peace,  nor  help  for  pain; 

And  we  are  here  as  on  a  darkling  plain 

Swept  with  confused  alarms  of  struggle  and 

fight. 
Where  ignorant  armies  clash  by  night. 

This  is  an  instance  of  the  pathetic  fal- 
lacy, ascribing  to  natural  scenes  the 
feelings  of  the  observer.  Apart  from 
that,  if  the  world  is  a  confusion  of  dark- 
ness and  ignorance,  it  is  strange  that 
anything  of  light  and  intelligence  and 
purpose  should  fill  the  hearts  of  the  poet 
and  his  love  on  Dover  Beach.  If  neither 
joy  nor  love  nor  certitude  nor  peace  nor 
help  are  to  be  found  in  all  the  universe, 
it  is  passing  strange  that  even  the 
thought    of    them,    or    the    desire    for 

179 


^hc  ^haboTP  an 


them,  should  be  evoked  in  the  souls  of 
observers. 

Fear  is  perhaps  the  greatest  source 
of  suffering  to  children.  To  some  ex- 
tent, no  doubt,  it  plays  a  useful  part,  as 
nature's  way  of  suggesting  danger,  or 
warning  from  unknown  evil.  It  has 
also  played  a  useful  part  as  one  of  the 
primitive  forces,  which  developed  life 
and  built  up  human  history.  Society  at 
the  beginning  was  cemented  to  a  large 
extent  by  fear,  and  sometimes  is  kept 
by  it  from  falling  to  pieces.  Through  it 
men  have  gathered  together  for  mutual 
support  and  protection.  It  was  at  least 
one  of  the  bonds  which  bound  men  into 
tribes  and  nations  for  defence.  How- 
ever it  may  be  justified  by  its  use  in 
early  society  and  even  by  its  instinctive 
value  in  education,  fear  is  nevertheless 
the  great  shadow  on  happiness.  Victor 
Hugo  in  Les  Miserables  describes  little 
Cosette,  who  was  sent  out  alone  at  night 

180 


^appmcsi55 


to  fetch  water  from  a  spring  in  a  wood, 
and  says  she  "  felt  herself  seized  by  the 
great  enormity  of  nature.  It  was  not 
only  terror  which  possessed  her,  it  was 
something  more  terrible  than  terror." 
The  most  pathetic  thing  in  the  world  is 
a  frightened  child,  who  has  no  refuge  of 
loving  arms  to  still  the  heart-quakings. 

Life  still  knows  the  menace  of  fear, 
though  the  forms  of  it  may  have 
changed.  Every  life  has  its  troubles 
without  and  fears  within,  its  dark  mo- 
ments, its  difficult  passes,  its  dangers 
and  distresses.  INIen  live  in  the  shadow, 
oppressed  with  care  and  anxiety,  bur- 
dened with  loads  too  heavy,  harassed 
with  fears  and  doubts.  The  bondage  of 
fear  has  been  the  weariest  slavery  of  the 
race.  Fear  entered  Eden  when  sin  en- 
tered, and  fear  has  gripped  man  and 
held  him  in  spiritual  tyranny.  j\Ien  have 
been  afraid  of  life  and  of  death,  afraid 
of  to-day  and  of  to-morrow,  afraid  of 
the  living  and  of  the  dead,  afraid  of  man 

181 


^Kc  ^haborp  on 


and  of  God,  afraid  of  everything  and  of 
nothing.  The  primitive  instinct  of 
dread,  so  forcibly  described  by  Kipling, 
has  its  abode  still  in  life  in  different 
forms  but  none  the  less  real. 

Through  the  Jungle  very  softly  flits  a  shadow 
and  a  sigh  — 
He  is  Fear,  O  little  Hunter,  he  is  Fear! 
Very  softly  down  the  glade  runs  a  waiting 
watching  shade, 
And  the  whisper  spreads  and  widens  far 
and  near; 
And  the  sweat  is  on  thy  brow,  for  he  passes 
even  now  — 
He  is  Fear,  O  little  Hunter,  he  is  Fear! 

We  say  gaily  that  knowledge  and  the 
spread  of  education  have  killed  fear. 
We  point  to  superstition,  the  dread  of 
unknown  powers,  the  terror  of  the  un- 
seen, which  have  been  mitigated  if  not 
destroyed  by  knowledge.  This  is  indeed 
so ;  and  true  knowledge  is  of  God,  for 
God  is  light  and  in  Him  is  no  darkness 
at  all.     But  it  is  not  true  that  fear  is 

182 


^appmciSiS 


dead,  or  that  mere  knowledge  ever  can 
give  it  its  quietus.  Knowledge  can  only 
glean  in  the  fields  after  the  reapers. 
The  mind  of  man  can  only  set  in  terms 
of  reason  what  the  soul  of  man  has  dis- 
covered. Superstition  is  killed  by  faith. 
A  false  religion  is  displaced  in  the  world 
not  by  criticism  but  by  a  true  religion. 
And  it  is  not  the  case  as  a  matter  of 
fact  that  fear  has  ceased  to  be  a  bon- 
dage to  men.  To  think  so  you  must  be 
ignorant  of  life,  must  have  had  your 
eyes  shut  to  the  hunted  look  on  human 
faces,  and  never  even  have  faced  the 
spectres  of  your  own  mind.  There  is 
ever  a  Death's  head  at  the  world's  feasts ; 
and  black  Care  still  rides  behind  many  a 
horseman.  It  may  be  that  we  no  longer 
tremble  at  mystery  and  bow  down  before 
the  idols  which  represent  the  forces  of 
nature  —  but  have  we  solved  the  mys- 
tery.'* Has  knowledge  robbed  life  and 
destiny  of  their  unknown  elements? 
Philosophy  can  sometimes   conquer  the 

183 


^hc  ^haboTx>  on 


fear  of  death;  but  there  is  left  still  the 
fear  of  life.  A  spurious  peace  can  be 
got  from  forgetfulness  of  the  problems 
of  life,  by  shutting  the  eyes,  or  by  hope- 
less acquiescence  in  the  sordidness  of 
existence.  That  sort  of  peace  could 
always  be  got  in  that  way. 

With  all  our  knowledge  of  natural 
forces  and  our  command  of  material  re- 
sources, life  has  still  its  appalling 
changes,  its  uncertainties.  Men  can  still 
be  mastered  by  an  unspoken  dread,  a 
nameless  terror.  Are  there  no  misgiv- 
ings in  men's  minds,  no  heart-sinkings 
about  the  future,  no  distrust  of  self  even, 
never  an  apprehension  of  evil,  never  a 
shiver  at  the  possible?  I  speak  not  of 
the  fear  of  death,  though  that  must  al- 
ways be  our  portion ;  for  the  love  of 
life  is  natural  and  therefore  the  fear  of 
death  is  natural.  It  is  only  when  the 
spirit  is  broken,  when  nerve  is  lost,  when 
body  or  mind  or  heart  is  diseased,  that 
death  can  ever  seem  a  gain.     If  in  our 

184 


^ctjrpmc^s^ 


modern  world-weariness  there  Is  a  school 
with  their  morbid  high-priests  of  litera- 
ture and  art,  who  worship  at  the  shrine 
of  death  and  speak  of  it  affectedly  as 
our  gentle  mother,  even  that  is  but  an- 
other proof  of  heart-sickness  and  the 
fear  of  life.  Doubt  is  the  disease  of 
thought ;  and  is  twin-sister  of  fear.  We 
may  lay  all  the  ghosts  we  can,  go  whis- 
tling to  keep  our  courage  up,  to  prove 
that  there  is  nothing  but  shadows  to 
frighten  us.  But  the  ghosts  will  not  be 
laid.  Fear  clings  to  life,  elusive  as  the 
mist  on  the  mountains. 

Even  when  fear  for  self  is  beaten  back 
from  the  gates  there  remains  for  every 
true  man  fear  of  self.  When  we  stop  to 
think  and  look  back  on  the  past,  we  can 
be  afraid  of  our  own  base  impulses  and 
cravings.  We  may  well  be  afraid  of  our 
own  weakness.  It  may  be  a  wholesome 
fear,  and  be  to  us  the  mother  of  safety, 
as  Edmund  Burke  called  it.     It  may  be 

185 


^hc  ^ha&otp  an 


one  of  the  Hounds  of  Heaven  to  drive  us 
from  the  wilderness  into  the  fold.  Our 
personal  fears  are  deeper  than  the  dread 
of  pain  or  loss.  There  is  the  fear  of 
failure,  more  than  failure  in  business  or 
work,  failure  of  the  higher  life  of  which 
we  feel  ourselves  capable,  failure  to  keep 
the  heights  we  are  able  to  gain.  We  fear 
that  we  may  fail  to  measure  up  to  our 
ideal,  and  perform  faithfully  all  the 
duty  life  lays  on  us.  There  have  been 
so  many  shipwrecks  of  those  who  voy- 
aged forth  in  sunshine  and  with  favour- 
ing wind,  that  a  man  who  knows  himself 
best  may  fear  lest  he  too  end  in  dis- 
honour. This  may  be  the  fear  of  fear 
itself.  Life  and  literature  are  full  of  the 
fear  which  moral  failure  always  brings ; 
to  one  as  with  Macbeth  "  the  perilous 
stuff  which  weighs  upon  the  heart  "  with 
its  remorse  and  pain ;  to  another  as  with 
Gloster  in  King  Henry  VI,  the  "suspicion 
which  always  haunts  the  guilty  mind." 
Further,  if  self  can  be  forgotten,  as 
186 


^apfrincsiS 


perhaps  it  can  be,  there  may  be  jear  for 
others  in  our  hearts.  Perfect  love  casts 
out  fear ;  and  even  our  imperfect  human 
love  casts  out  fear  of  the  loved,  but  not 
always  fear  for  them.  We  would  shield 
our  loved  ones,  and  put  protecting  arms 
around  them.  Paul  confesses  the  fear  he 
had  for  some  of  his  beloved  converts  lest 
they  should  be  drawn  aside ;  and  is  not 
ashamed  even  to  confess  the  fear  which 
sometimes  chilled  his  heart  lest  he  him- 
self might  be  a  cast-away.  There  are 
noble  forms  of  fear,  born  of  love  itself. 
Job  is  depicted  in  all  his  happiness  and 
prosperity  rising  up  early  in  the  morn- 
ing to  pray  and  make  offerings  for  his 
sons  and  daughters ;  for  Job  said.  It 
may  be  that  my  sons  have  sinned  and 
cursed  God  in  their  hearts.  And  when 
the  blow  fell,  he  knew  that  he  had  been 
dreading  something  like  this  all  his  life. 
"  The  thing  which  I  gi'eatly  feared  is 
come  upon  me,  and  that  which  I  was 
afraid  of  is  come  unto  me." 

187 


^hc  ^haboTP  an 


The  very  richness  of  humar  life  with 
its  treasures  of  love  only  adds  new  ap- 
prehensions. The  closest  human  ties  can 
be  broken,  even  those  which  seem  so  sat- 
isfying that  it  sounds  absurd  to  speak 
of  the  lonely  life,  so  long  as  such  com- 
munion is  possible.  The  keenest  sorrow 
is  really  born  of  love,  as  the  finest  joy 
is  also.  The  worst  desolation  of  the 
heart  would  be  escaped,  if  we  were  not 
bound  in  ties  of  love  to  others.  The 
very  thought  of  some  affliction  is  itself 
an  agony.  Edmund  Gosse  has  a  sonnet 
describing  the  sickening  fear,  that  al- 
most stops  the  heart  at  the  thought  of 
life's  bitterest  desolation  to  some. 

Last  night  I   woke   and   found   between   us 

drawn  — 
Between  us,  where  no  mortal  fear  may  creep  — 
The  vision  of  Death  dividing  us  in  sleep; 
And  suddenly  I  thought,  Ere  Hght  shall  dawn. 
Some  day  the  substance,  not  the  shadow,  of 

Death, 
Shall  cleave  us  like  a  sword.     The   vision 

passed, 

188 


^appme^s 


But  all  its  new-born  horror  held  me  fast. 
And  till  day  broke  I  listened  for  your  breath. 
Some  day  to  wake,  and  find  that  coloured 

skies, 
And  piping  in  the  woods,  and  petals  wet. 
Are  things  for  aching  memory  to  forget; 
And  that  your  living  hands,  and  mouth,  and 

eyes. 
Are  part  of  all  the  old  world's  histories. 
Dear  God!  a  little  longer,  ah,  not  yet! 

Life  is  open  to  fear  in  other  direc- 
tions. Somewhere  or  other  it  can  grip 
us  by  the  throat,  if  not  at  this  turn  of 
the  road  at  the  next  possibly,  if  not 
at  any  of  the  places  mentioned  yet  at 
some  spot  our  heart  knows  where. 
There  are  fears  of  the  future,  fears 
which  find  voice  in  our  books  about 
forces  at  work  in  society  with  their  pos- 
sible social  changes,  the  natural  timid- 
ity which  looks  with  shrinking  on  new 
and  untried  paths.  We  speak  glibly  of 
this  as  a  transition  period.  We  per- 
haps believe  that  conditions  more  true 
and  just  may  emerge;    but  everywhere 

189 


^hc  ^haboTP  on 


we  find  men  dreading  the  plunge,  the 
passage  through  the  cloud.  Fear  is 
the  sign  of  evil  in  the  world,  the  symbol 
of  the  mystery  of  iniquity.  We  have  all 
to  meet  it  sooner  or  later  in  some  form 
or  other.  It  is  the  great  bondage  of 
the  race.  See  it  in  the  tired  and  start- 
led eyes  of  men  and  women,  with  care 
and  anxiety  marked  on  their  brow. 
Life  is  often  lived  under  a  grey  sky  and 
on  a  sodden  earth.  The  weight  of  to- 
morrow burdens  to-day.  The  troubles 
of  the  future  kill  the  joy  of  the  present. 
It  is  no  unique  experience  for  a  man  to 
know  that  there  is  a  shadow  on  his 
happiness. 

Perfect  fearlessness,  which  can  look 
back  and  forward  and  around  without 
a  tremor,  which  has  peace  for  all  the 
past  and  strength  for  all  the  present 
and  hope  for  all  the  future,  seems  only 
possible  to  a  profound  religious  faith. 
If  we  can  say  that  the  cause  of  our 

190 


happiness 


sickness  of  heart  is  doubt,  doubt  of 
self,  of  life,  of  God,  the  cure  for  it  is 
faith.  The  owls  and  bats  and  dark 
night-birds  that  hoot  in  our  ears  are 
driven  from  us  by  one  stroke  of  the 
flashing  sword  of  the  rising  sun.  As 
in  all  the  great  controversies  in  religion 
and  life,  the  battle  is  to  be  fought  out 
in  the  region  of  presuppositions.  That 
is  why  every  controversy  resolves  itself 
into  some  ultimate  and  simple  phil- 
osophy of  life.  So  here,  if  we  realise 
that  love  is  the  heart  of  the  universe 
and  the  centre  of  life,  fear  of  all  kinds 
must  depart.  In  proportion  as  that 
creed  is  a  living  faith  with  us  are  all 
fears  maimed  or  dispelled.  If  we  ac- 
cept that  love,  if  we  apply  it  to  our 
every  need,  if  we  live  in  it,  where  is 
there  room  for  fear?  Want  of  this 
faith  means  want  of  faith  in  human  des- 
tiny, and  the  world  becomes  a  riddle 
and  life  a  terror.  But  faith  in  the 
moral  order  of  the  universe  and  in  the 

191 


^hc  ^haboTP  on 


protecting  love  of  the  Father,  saves 
from  despair.  Even  in  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  itself  men  have  been  enabled  to 
fear  no  evil,  knowing  that  there  was 
surely  a  way  out,  and  walking  calmly 
under  a  sense  of  protection. 

This  is  not  something  to  be  argued 
about,  but  simply  to  be  stated  as  ex-  j 
perience  and  to  be  tested  experimen- 
tally. We  find  that  we  are  emanci- 
pated when  we  live  in  this  relationship. 
Courage  is  born  in  the  soul,  which  is 
sure  that  life  has  a  meaning,  and  that 
patience  and  duty  and  service  and  all 
the  discipline  of  life  are  not  purpose- 
less. Faith  is  often  spoken  of  as  if  it 
were  a  weak  thing,  of  a  puling  whining 
nature,  as  if  it  were  a  kind  of  coward- 
ice that  runs  to  cover  as  an  escape. 
That  is  a  misrepresentation.  From  one 
aspect  faith  is  simply  courage,  moral 
courage  that  will  not  give  in,  that  re- 
fuses to  be  beaten,  that  will  not  doubt 
though    everything    seems    against    be- 

192 


^appmcsiiSi 


Heving.  In  the  day  when  I  am  afraid, 
when  I  have  most  cause  to  be  afraid,  I 
will  trust  in  Thee.  When  clouds  are 
heaviest  and  despair  is  on  the  heart, 
faith  clings  tenaciously  to  God.  The 
courageous  soul  will  not  be  overmas- 
tered by  his  fears  and  coerced  by  his 
dangers ;  for  instinctively  he  feels  that 
"  sudden  the  worst  turns  the  best  to 
the  brave." 

Of  course  courage  is  not  always  con- 
sciously allied  to  this  faith.  If  it  be 
true  that  to  conquer  the  fear  of  death 
is  to  come  into  possession  of  life,  it  has 
to  be  said  that  the  mass  of  men  do  con- 
quer that  fear.  Every  now  and  again 
sentimentalists  declare  that  one  of  the 
bad  symptoms  of  the  modern  world  is 
the  common  fear  of  death,  which  they 
attribute  to  luxury  and  the  increase  of 
nerves.  After  all,  only  a  small  minor- 
ity can  be  classed  with  the  luxurious. 
There  is  a  deep  unconscious  faith  in  the 
mass  of  men  who  are  untouched  by  the 

193 


*®hc  .-SKaborp  on 


doubts  of  thought.  They  face  hfe 
bravely,  and  meet  death  calmly.  They 
carry  heavy  loads,  and  display  a  sim- 
ple courage  that  is  profoundly  touch- 
ing. It  would  do  some  critics  good  to 
visit  one  of  the  great  hospitals  of  a  city 
and  get  to  know  the  patients.  They 
would  discover  how  massive  is  the  cour- 
age. It  is  rare  to  find  any  weak  or 
morbid  fear.  Fear  there  often  is,  but 
noble  and  unselfish  —  fear  of  disable- 
ment, fear  of  loss  of  work,  fear  that  wife 
and  children  be  left  without  breadwin- 
ner. Indeed  men  and  women,  who  never 
turn  coward  for  their  own  safety,  quail 
at  the  thought  of  the  death  of  those  they 
love.  Once  more  only  faith  can  drive 
out  tliis  terror. 

Apart  from  what  a  profound  relig- 
ious faith  can  do  to  give  courage,  there 
are  some  things  to  be  said  about  fear 
and  its  effect  upon  happiness.  In  the 
first  place,  a  habit  of  fearfulness  takes 

194 


^ajrpmciss 


the  pith  out  of  the  present.  It  can  do 
nothing  to  prevent  the  evil  dreaded,  and 
only  exhausts  the  strength  which  might 
meet  it  with  courage.  The  fearful  soul 
sees  things  in  false  perspective,  like  ob- 
jects looming  up  through  a  fog.  Noth- 
ing in  reality  could  be  so  terrible  as  these 
dreaded  visions.  Panic  can  conjure  up 
unspeakable  evils,  and  see  the  enemy  in 
every  bush.  When  we  come  up  to  it, 
often  it  vanishes,  and  at  the  worst  it 
is  never  so  terrifying  as  imagination 
painted  it.  Some  of  our  ills  never  really 
come  upon  us,  and  even  when  they  do 
come  they  rarely  come  in  the  precise  form 
we  foreshadowed.  Many  a  man  has 
been  surprised  to  find  that  the  actual 
calamity,  of  which  he  had  lived  in 
dread,  was  a  more  tolerable  state  than 
his  condition  of  fear.  Montaigne  wrote 
an  essay  in  illustration  of  this  point 
that  fear  is  a  strong  passion,  which  will 
dethrone  judgment  from  its  proper  seat 
sooner  than  any  other  passion.    In  it  he 

195 


^he  ^ShaboTP  on 


says,  "  Such  as  are  in  immediate  fear 
of  losing  their  estates,  of  banishment, 
or  of  slavery,  live  in  perpetual  anguish, 
and  lose  all  appetite  and  repose; 
whereas  such  as  are  actually  poor, 
slaves,  and  exiles,  ofttimes  live  as  mer- 
rily as  men  in  a  better  condition:  and 
so  many  people,  who  impatient  of  the 
perpetual  alarms  of  fear,  have  hanged 
and  drowned  themselves,  give  us  suffi- 
ciently to  understand  that  it  is  more 
importunate  and  insupportable  than 
death  itself." 

In  the  second  place,  fearfulness  is 
mitigated  by  a  more  worthy  perspective 
of  the  things  that  really  are  of  account 
in  a  life's  happiness.  Some  men  live  in 
constant  dread  of  losing  something, 
which  may  mean  very  little  to  them.  A 
man  may  be  afraid  of  not  being  able 
to  maintain  his  popularity  if  he  is  a 
public  man,  or  of  not  being  able  to  live 
in  a  style  and  on  a  scale  to  which  he  has 
been  accustomed.    As  a  matter  of  fact  if 

196 


'Sbctj^j^irte^^ 


he  made  up  his  mind  as  to  the  true  value 
of  things,  he  would  lose  much  of  this 
fear;  for  he  would  know  that  his  hap- 
piness did  not  depend  on  these  things 
at  all.  jMany  of  the  things  men  are 
striving  to  gain,  or  fearing  they  will 
never  gain,  are  not  worth  the  pains. 
They  can  only  be  gotten  by  giving  up 
more  worthy  ends.  Also,  by  a  kind  of 
irony  the  kind  of  success  men  covet 
most  often  comes  to  the  man  who  values 
it  least,  and  comes  to  him  because  he 
values  it  least.  In  politictl  life,  for 
example,  the  man  who  holds  by  princi- 
ple, who  cannot  be  bribed  and  cannot  be 
frightened,  commands  the  highest  suc- 
cess. Even  his  enemies  cannot  get  hold 
of  him  to  drag  him  down.  Abler  men 
are  outdistanced  by  him,  because  he  runs 
light.  He  is  not  the  slave  of  opinion, 
and  so  from  being  master  of  himself 
becomes  the  master  of  others. 

Thirdly,  there  is  a  spirit  which  per- 
petually casts  a  shadow  over  the  happi- 

197 


^hc  ^habotp  on 


est  days  to  many.  It  too  is  a  form  of 
the  spirit  of  fear,  bom  of  faithlessness. 
It  is  the  mood  of  mind,  which  thinks  a 
blessing  is  too  good  to  hope  for  or  to 
beheve  in.  One  hears  people  say  that 
they  fear  they  have  been  too  happy,  and 
that  they  will  have  to  pay  for  it.  They 
seem  to  believe  in  a  malignant  power, 
which  envies  human  happiness  and  will 
dash  the  cup  from  their  Ups.  Many 
thus  go  through  life  looking  upon  joy 
with  foreboding.  They  think  it  safer 
to  live  in  the  shadow  and  the  gloom, 
rather  than  to  risk  disappointment  by 
stepping  into  the  sunshine.  It  is  a 
relic  of  ancient  superstition  that  un- 
seen powers  envied  men  too  much  joy, 
and  delighted  in  plunging  men  into  mis- 
ery just  at  the  moment  of  their  highest 
bliss.  It  is  good  for  us  to  know  the 
uncertain  tenor  on  which  we  hold  life 
and  Hfe's  best  gifts,  but  it  is  not  good 
to  let  the  shadow  of  fear  fall  on  every 
happy  hour.     Life  is  spoiled  for  many 

198 


^appmcsid 


by  a  morbid  melancholy,  or  by  a  plain- 
tive despondency.  What  has  been  called 
the  religion  of  healthy-mindedness  has 
surely  its  place. 

The  deliberate  refusal  to  live  in  the 
shadow  is  not  always  the  unworthy  pol- 
icy it  sometimes  looks.  Often  enough 
it  may  be  the  refuge  of  the  coward,  who 
will  not  look  facts  in  the  face,  and  who 
simply  ignores  everything  unpleasant. 
But  as  often  it  may  be  the  way  of  cour- 
age. A  man  may  see  evil,  look  at  it  with- 
out blinking,  and  despise  its  power.  He 
cultivates  a  mood  of  mind  which  kills 
his  fears  by  giving  them  no  air  to 
breathe.  Courage  like  this  braces  and 
tones  up  the  whole  nature.  He  realises 
that  experiences  may  be  made  good  or 
evil  to  him  according  to  how  he  looks  at 
them  and  treats  them.  To  indulge  in 
misery  is  as  weak  as  any  other  kind  of 
indulgence.  Further,  it  makes  life  hard 
for   others   as   well  as    for   oneself.      It 

199 


^hc  ^haboTi:>  on 


adds  to  the  gloom  of  the  world,  and  de- 
presses the  vitality  of  all  within  reach. 
This  attitude  may  easily  be  exaggerated 
into  the  blind  denial  of  facts  which  we 
find  in  some  modern  cults,  as  if  to  say 
that  there  is  no  pain  will  make  it  so. 
But  we  should  recognise  the  great  truth 
in  this  whole  point  of  view.  To  a  large 
extent  we  make  our  own  world,  and  can 
choose  the  spirit  in  which  we  will  live. 
We  can  conjure  up  endless  fears  to  haunt 
every  step  of  the  way,  and  can  darken 
life  by  morbid  repining.  Or  we  can  ig- 
nore our  fears,  and  even  learn  to  despise 
them,  and  can  cultivate  a  cheerfulness 
which  spreads  cheer  to  others  and  saves 
our  own  hearts  from  many  a  bitter  hour. 
If  we  wish  to  rescue  this  mood  from 
ultimate  failure,  we  must  make  it  more 
than  a  mood.  The  complete  antidote 
for  fear  and  despondency  is  to  throw 
the  weight  of  hfe  on  the  simple  faith 
that  the  universal  order  is  one  of  love. 
This  faith  is  not  necessarily  one  in  creeds 

200 


^ajrpmciS^ 


or  dogmas,  but  that  the  world  is  organ- 
ised so  as  to  vindicate  goodness  and 
the  life  of  good-will.  We  learn  to  walk 
in  the  light,  and  we  cease  to  argue 
whether  there  be  light.  The  proof 
comes  through  experience.  It  is  not 
from  ecstacy  or  rhapsody  we  find  proof, 
but  as  surely  as  ancient  prophet  knew 
we  too  know  that  happiness  follows  right 
living.  Every  act  of  good-will  brings 
us  into  the  universal  order  of  love. 
There  is  a  life  of  courage  and  faith  and 
service,  which  saves  us  utterly  from  a 
jaundiced  view  of  the  world  and  of  hu- 
man destiny.  If  we  live  as  if  it  were 
God's  world,  we  discover  that  it  is  so, 
and  that  we  need  never  again  cower  in 
the  shadow. 

Health  is  contagious  as  well  as  dis- 
ease, and  hope  breeds  hope  in  others, 
as  despondency  darkens  life  for  all. 
Courage  not  only  dispels  fear  for  our- 
selves, but  gives  confidence  to  others. 
There    is    an    application    for    life    in 

201 


jSbafipinc^ii 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson's  story  of  the 
storm,  that  caught  a  ship  off  a  rocky 
coast  and  threatened  death  for  all.  In 
the  midst  of  the  terror  one  daring  man 
went  on  deck,  made  the  dangerous  pas- 
sage to  the  pilot  house,  saw  the  steers- 
man lashed  fast  at  his  post  holding  the 
wheel  down  and  inch  by  inch  turning  the 
ship  out  to  sea.  The  pilot  saw  the  white 
face  of  the  watcher,  and  smiled.  Then 
the  passenger  went  below,  and  spread 
his  news  of  cheer.  "  I  have  seen  the  face 
of  the  pilot  and  he  smiled.    It  is  all  well." 


202 


3foc^  of  ^apj^xnasa 


We  have  but  one  resource  for  superiority 
and  perfection  —  to  love  them. 

Schiller. 


\  (I        ^ 


I 


^hc  Sfoca  of 
happiness 


HOWEVER  we  define  happiness, 
and  whatever  be  the  source  to 
which  we  look  for  it,  it  is  men- 
aced on  every  hand.  If,  as  is  the  case 
with  all,  much  of  our  ordinary  happi- 
ness comes  from  the  outside,  pleasant 
experiences,  satisfaction  with  our  envi- 
ronments, we  are  at  the  mercy  of  any 
untoward  event.  The  more  we  look  for 
it  from  the  outside  amusement  and  sur- 
face gaiety,  the  more  dependent  we  are 
on  circumstances.  It  languishes  with  a 
frown,  as  it  revives  with  a  smile.  The 
thirst  for  this  sort  of  happiness  grows 
by  what  it  feeds  on,  and  it  never  can  get 
enough  to  consume.  Everything  that 
does  not  minister  to  it  is  an  enemy. 
There  must  always  be  an  end  to  it,  and 
often  there  will  come  checks  to  its  pro- 
r  205 


V 

Y 


"©he  ^ac^  of 


gress.  Our  control  over  circumstances 
is  limited  at  the  best,  and  so  it  is  com- 
mon for  us  to  think  that  all  our  dis- 
satisfaction and  unrest  are  due  to  our 
uncongenial  environment.  In  city  life 
we  think  that  we  would  be  different  if 
we  lived  amid  the  tranquil  serenity  of 
nature,  as  in  the  country  we  imagine 
that  all  would  be  well  in  the  larger  and 
more  stimulating  life  of  the  city.  We 
expect  too  much  from  environment,  and 
a  time  can  come  when  even  a  cinimpled 
roseleaf  can  worry  us.  We  may  buy 
peace,  of  a  sort  and  for  a  time,  from  the 
world  by  constant  compromise,  by  base 
connivance,  by  ever  giving  in  to  its 
spirit,  but  sooner  or  later  the  world  is 
too  much  for  us,  as  it  is  too  much  with 
us. 

In  the  general  scheme  of  happiness 
for  our  fellows,  we  recognise  the  duty  of 
sharing  in  everything  that  adds  to  the 
joy  and  light  and  prosperity  of  men. 
The  modem  conscience  is  touched  with 

206 


^Sbappincs^ 


the  desire  to  aid  the  distressed,  and 
to  improve  conditions  of  industry  and 
social  hfe.  It  is  good  that  we  should 
feel  this  constraint,  and  we  may  well 
insist  that  the  means  of  happiness  should 
be  better  distributed.  We  know  how 
much  fortunate  circumstances  have  min- 
istered to  the  best  there  is  in  our  own 
life.  Our  first  duty  may  be  to  try  to 
make  our  neighbour  happy,  but  even 
here  we  are  met  by  many  foes  of  happi- 
ness. Arguing  once  more  from  our- 
selves, we  know  that  we  need  not  expect 
the  millcnium,  even  when  material  op- 
portunity is  fairly  equalised.  We  know 
that  the  best  welfare  of  mankind  cannot 
be  achieved  by  social  betterment  alone. 
Livelihood  at  the  best  is  not  life,  though 
it  is  the  condition  of  life.  The  problem 
of  happiness  is  more  profound  and  more 
difficult.  It  cannot  be  solved  by  merely 
improving  the  commissariat.  The  true 
brotherhood  of  man  would  not  neces- 
sarily come,  if  all  enjoyed  plenty  and 

207 


"©he  Sa^ocsi  of 


prosperity,  and  each  could  sit  under  his 
own  fig-tree,  and  eat  the  fruit  of  his  own 
vineyard.  To  say  this  is  not  to  throw 
cold  water  on  the  noble  efforts  to  banish 
grinding  poverty  and  sordid  conditions 
from  modern  life.  It  is  merely  to  say 
that  the  foes  of  happiness  are  more 
deeply  entrenched  than  that  would 
make  out.  Even  when  the  bread  is  sure 
and  the  butter  sufficient,  the  problem 
of  life  has  only  begun. 

Happiness  is  the  net  result  of  a  man's 
whole  reaction  to  life.  It  is  an  inward 
state,  affected  no  doubt  by  outward  con- 
ditions, but  not  completely  dependent 
on  them.  It  is  a  feeling  of  the  heart, 
and  an  attitude  of  the  soul.  Life  is  not 
a  matter  of  surroundings  merely,  and 
a  change  of  environment  will  not  give  a 
change  of  self.  In  the  busy  market,  in 
crowded  street,  with  the  roar  of  life  in 
the  ears  and  brain,  men  have  known  an 
interior  peace  that  nothing  could  dis- 

208 


jSi)ctfj^inei&a 


turb.  So,  when  we  speak  of  the  foes 
of  happiness,  we  are  forced  to  look 
deeper  than  to  outward  fortune.  We 
have  to  look  within,  where  in  the  last 
resort  each  must  find  the  fountain  of 
good.  We  discover  that  happiness  or 
unhappiness  depends  much  on  disposi- 
tion, and  disposition  means  the  way  we 
look  at  things  and  the  way  we  comport 
ourselves.  In  common  speech  we  say  of 
a  man  that  he  is  his  own  worst  enemy,  or 
that  he  is  the  enemy  of  no  one  but  him- 
self. It  suggests  that  the  problem  is  a 
deeper  one  than  one  of  environment. 
A  man's  foes  are  of  his  own  household. 
The  happy  life  needs  more  than  happy 
conditions,  and  can  do  with  less.  It 
is  largely  a  matter  of  inward  nature. 
We  saw  that  the  chief  shadow  on  hap- 
piness was  cast  by  fear,  a  feeling  of  the 
mind.  The  other  serious  foes  of  hap- 
piness are  like  it  in  also  finding  their 
seat  within. 

Environment     is     indeed     immensely 
209 


"©he  3focs  of 


important  for  happiness  as  it  is  for 
life  itself,  but  often  we  take  a  surface 
view  of  what  is  a  life's  environment.  It 
takes  its  place  along  with  heredity  as  one 
of  the  chief  factors  in  biology,  in  soci- 
ology, in  the  life  of  everything  that  Uves, 
including  man.  The  trend  of  legisla- 
tion is  toward  the  amelioration  of  the 
outward  surroundings  of  the  people, 
the  workshops,  and  factories,  and 
houses,  and  towns.  The  attempt  is 
made  to  sweeten  the  conditions  of  life, 
and  thus  to  affect  the  social  problems 
that  face  society.  And  the  importance 
of  environment  is  not  confined  to  the 
purely  material  lot  of  the  people.  It 
is  seen  to  be  capable  of  treatment  as  a 
mental  question  as  well  as  a  physical; 
and  so  codes  of  education  are  devised, 
and    schools    and    public    libraries    and  Jl 

courses   of  lectures   are  provided.      All  h 

this  is  well,  but  environment  is  a  much 
larger  and  more  subtle  thing  than  is 
acknowledged  by   even   all  this   legisla- 

210 


^crppinciSijS 


tion.  There  is  a  moral  environment 
as  well  as  a  material,  a  spiritual  cli- 
mate as  well  as  a  physical.  This  as- 
pect of  the  forces  that  play  upon  life 
and  mould  character  cannot  be  so  easily 
embodied  in  laws  and  benevolent  social 
schemes. 

There  are  two  factors  often  over- 
looked when  dealing  with  this  subject. 
One  is  that  perhaps  the  biggest  part  of 
a  man's  environment  is  himself.  After 
all  I  have  to  live  with  myself,  and  I 
may  be  a  difficult  person  to  live  with. 
I  have  to  submit  to  the  influence  of 
my  own  thoughts,  and  habits,  and  gen- 
eral view  of  life.  We  recognise  the  im- 
portance for  happiness  of  right  ways 
of  thinking,  and  true  expressions  of 
feeling,  and  generally  the  whole  man- 
ner of  living.  The  worst  foes  of  hap- 
piness are  to  be  found  within  in  the 
qualities  of  mind  which  we  have  culti- 
vated,  in   the   opinions   and   feelings   to 

211 


"©he  3Focs  of 


which  we  have  given  hospitality.  We 
cannot  harbour  desires  and  ambitions 
and  thoughts,  without  their  aifecting 
our  hfe,  and  therefore  our  happiness. 
As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is 
he.  Even  in  the  region  of  opinion  our 
speculative  views  are  important,  if  our 
opinions  are  real  and  not  idle  or  af- 
fected. The  whole  quality  of  the  mind 
Is  influenced.  False  opinions  will  dis- 
tort the  whole  vision,  and  turn  fair 
into  foul  and  foul  into  fair.  Rossetti's 
lines  in  his  Sonnet  on  Lost  Days  sug- 
gests a  solemn  thought  in  this  con- 
nection. 


I  do  not  see  them  here;  but  after  death 

God  knows  I  know  the  faces  I  shall  see. 
Each   one   a   murdered    self,    with    low    last 
breath. 
"I  am  thyself,  —  what  hast  thou  done  to 
me?" 
"And   I  —  and   I  —  thyself,"    (lo!    each  one 
saith,) 
"And  thou  thyself  to  all  eternity!" 

212 


^ctppinc^iS 


We  have  indeed  to  live  with  ourselves, 
and  every  life  makes  its  own  environ- 
ment. 

The  other  factor  often  overlooked  is 
that  the  chief  environment  of  a  human 
life,  which  tells  most  strongly  and  most 
constantly  on  it,  does  not  consist  of 
things,  but  of  persons.  Conditions  of 
work,  conditions  of  the  houses  and 
streets,  and  civic  arrangements  are  in- 
deed powerful  agents  in  influencing  habits 
and  character,  but  they  are  powerful 
because  they  are  impregnated  with  the 
lives  of  others.  The  beginning  and  the 
middle  and  the  end  of  all  influence  is 
personal.  All  the  permanent  influences 
of  life  come  from  persons.  Our  real 
environment  consists  not  of  events  but 
of  life,  not  of  things  but  of  people. 
The  environment  of  a  child  is  not  the 
house,  its  size  and  furniture,  but  the 
home,  the  quality  of  the  life  in  it.  The 
environment  of  education  is  not  the 
school  but  the  teachers  and  the  pupils ; 

213 


"Sthc  3focs  of 


not  the  games  but  the  players.  The 
environment  of  a  man  is  not  the  work 
he  does  so  much  as  the  workers  with 
whom  he  works ;  not  the  city  he  lives 
in  so  much  as  the  citizens. 

We  are  the  product  and  the  creators 
of  environment.  For  good  or  evil  it  is 
with  us  ever,  a  gift  which  we  possess, 
an  influence  to  which  we  are  subject. 
The  higher  we  go  in  the  faculties  of 
man,  the  more  susceptible  and  impres- 
sionable they  are  seen  to  be.  There  is 
in  the  world  in  which  we  live  a  spiritual 
environment,  which  is  the  subtle  creation 
of  human  souls.  Over  some  of  it  we 
are  powerless.  We  are  bom  into  our 
spiritual  climate,  as  we  are  born  into 
our  geographical  climate.  The  thoughts 
and  habits  and  institutions  of  our  time 
and  place  leave  their  mark  on  us,  with 
our  will  or  without  it.  But  to  this  ex- 
tent we  have  power  over  it.  Our  en- 
Aaronment,  as  we  know  if  we  analyse 
it,  is  not  of  one  colour  and  character. 

214 


^appmc52si5 


It  is  various  and  composite,  with  higher 
and  lower,  richer  and  poorer  quahties. 
If  we  wilfully  submit  ourselves  to  the 
influence  of  the  lower,  if  we  choose  to 
associate  with  what  impoverishes  true 
life,  if  we  let  evil  intercourse  play  on 
us  and  do  its  corrupting  work  on  us, 
pervading  and  polluting  life,  then  we 
judge  and  condcnm  ourselves.  This  is 
the  law  of  spiritual  environment.  So 
the  foes  of  happiness  are  to  be  found 
very  largely  in  false  relations  with  other 
people. 

These  two  neglected  factors  indicate 
that  we  have  to  look  to  moral  qualities 
for  the  failure  to  make  the  most  of  life. 
Anything  that  breaks  the  current  of 
the  best  social  life,  anything  that  hin- 
ders and  impedes  true  relations  is  a  foe 
to  happiness.  For  it  is  a  law  of  life 
that  we  cannot  be  happy  in  the  fullest 
sense  alone.  ^lost  of  our  causes  of 
uneasiness  are  due  to  sins  against  good- 

215 


^hc  "^oe^  of 


will,  failure  to  play  our  part  in  social 
life.  For  example,  an  attitude  of  sus- 
picion, which  makes  a  man  refuse  to 
enter  frankly  into  society,  is  bound  to 
cause  him  unhappiness.  He  has  got  to 
live  with  others,  and  if  he  goes  about 
perpetually  as  if  he  expected  others  to 
tread  on  his  toes,  the  chances  are  that 
he  will  get  his  toes  trodden  on.  With 
what  measure  he  metes,  it  is  measured 
to  him  again  —  sometimes  even  in  double 
measure,  pressed  down,  and  running 
over  into  his  bosom.  He  is  always  look- 
ing after  number  one,  and  number  two 
lets  him  look.  He  has  made  an  inner 
environment  of  suspicion,  and  he  has 
to  breathe  in  it  all  the  time.  There 
can  be  no  real  happiness  for  suspicious 
men,  who  live  as  if  they  thought  others 
are  always  waiting  to  pick  their  pocket, 
or  to  do  them  some  evil  turn.  Even  if 
they    escape    some    personal    injury    in  -%J 

their  caution,  as  no  doubt  they  some- 
times  do,   they   are   cutting  themselves 

216 


^crpjrmciSi« 


off  from  the  human  joy  of  frank  inter- 
course, and  the  free  outgoing  of  life 
which  is  the  source  of  happiness.  There 
is  a  turn  of  mind  which  it  is  more 
happy  to  possess  than  to  be  born  to 
a   fortune. 

The  quahties  that  make  for  happiness 
are  within,  and  the  foes  are  found  there 
also.  Sir  Thomas  Brown,  who  culti- 
vated his  inward  life,  prayed:  "Bless 
me  in  this  life  with  but  peace  of  my 
conscience,  command  of  my  affections, 
the  love  of  thyself  and  of  my  dearest 
friends ;  and  I  shall  be  happy  enough 
to  pity  Caesar."  A  man's  foes  are  in- 
deed those  of  his  own  household.  They 
are  all  traceable  to  the  same  \'ulgar 
source  of  selfishness.  Wounded  vanity, 
the  personal  mortification  which  comes 
from  a  slight,  the  fatigued,  complain- 
ing spirit  which  has  always  a  long  list 
of  grievances,  the  jealousy  which  sees 
everything  yellow,  and  the  anger  which 
sees  everything  red  —  these  make  other 

217 


"©Kc  3foc55  of 


people  miserable,  but  never  so  miser- 
able as  they  make  the  possessor.  Any 
place  may  be  good  enough  to  live  a  life 
in,  but  more  depends  on  the  kind  of  life 
than  the  kind  of  place.  A  great  deal 
even  of  the  anxiety  which  darkens  the 
world  comes  often  from  an  undue  place 
to  which  we  give  our  own  importance. 
We  put  such  value  on  our  own  affairs 
and  on  our  own  comfort  that  we  worry 
to  have  them  exactly  to  our  mind.  When 
we  view  things  in  the  large  and  get  out 
into  the  wider  life,  we  lose  some  of  our 
fretful  cares.  A  right  disposition 
towards  life  ensures  much  quiet  happi- 
ness. We  learn  the  true  proportion  of 
things.  Happiness  is  not  dependent 
on  the  few  great  occasions  of  a  sudden 
joy,  and  is  not  tried  most  severely  by 
a  great  trial.  Unhappiness  is  bred 
from  the  little  maladjustments  of  life, 
the  petty  cares,  the  trivial  troubles,  the 
small  disappointments,  the  endless  oc- 
casions of  discord.     The  place  to  fight 

218 


^appmc2i« 


many  of  the  foes  of  happiness  is  where 
they   find  lodgment  in  the  soul. 

Nothing  will  so  completely  destroy 
the  peace  of  life  as  an  undue  ambition. 
It  is  never  satisfied,  and  pants  for  new 
worlds  to  conquer.  A  self-seeking  man 
can  never  reach  the  end  he  covets. 
There  is,  of  course,  a  discontent  with 
present  conditions,  which  is  the  mother 
of  progress.  It  dreams  of  ever  higher 
conquests,  and  is  not  satisfied  with 
achievement.  There  is  a  noble  discon- 
tent, born  of  the  unappeased  hunger 
and  thirst  after  rigliteousness,  which 
will  be  satisfied  with  nothing  but  the 
highest.  But  often  it  is  ignoble,  bom 
of  vanity  and  the  restless  passion  for 
gratification  of  stlf.  At  all  costs  a 
man  must  shine  and  glitter  in  some 
place  of  power.  He  covets  place  for 
its  own  sake,  not  as  an  opportunity  for 
service.  True  fame  comes  to  a  man 
simply  and  naturally  from  his  work  and 

219 


"©he  "^foc^  of 


character,  but  ambition  makes  fame  the 
end  towards  which  all  efforts  are  di- 
rected. The  world  is  full  of  restless 
climbers,  who  are  pursuing  selfish  pur- 
poses. It  is  a  desperate  pursuit,  and 
the  chance  of  success  for  each  is  small. 
There  are  not  enough  posts  of  vantage 
to  give  one  to  each,  for  there  would 
cease  to  be  vantage  if  many  could  oc- 
cupy them.  The  whole  point  lies  in 
superiority  and  getting  the  better  of 
other  competitors.  In  the  world  there 
are  only  a  few  places  vacant  where 
greatness  can  shine,  only  a  few  niches 
in  the  temple.  The  Valhalla  has  room 
for  only  a  very  few  heroes.  Celebri- 
ties must  be  rare  from  the  nature  of 
the  case.  Only  the  few  can  occupy  the 
heights,  and  each  place  filled  takes  away 
one  other  chance  from  the  struggling 
crowd  below. 

If  honour  comes  to  a  man  he  can 
wear  it  gracefully  and  use  it  nobly,  but 
ambition    frets    the    mind    and   inflames 

220 


^«ppme*» 


the  soul.  The  self-centred  life  has  a 
fever  in  it,  which  wastes  it  away. 
Kvery  attainmeiit  only  excites  new  de- 
sires, and  every  failure  casts  down  and 
mortifies.  It  is  a  hopeless  task,  for  the 
reason  that  the  whole  happiness  is  put 
into  the  care  of  other  people,  and  yet 
the  design  is  selfish.  That  is  like  try- 
ing to  square  the  circle.  The  ambitious 
man  cannot  be  satisfied  without  the 
good-will  of  others,  or  their  praise,  or 
admiration.  Yet  the  instinct  of  the 
world  is  just,  and  does  not  give  good- 
will to  selfishness.  So,  it  is  earning 
wages  to  put  it  into  a  bag  with  holes. 
Why  should  we  expect  men  to  give  ap- 
probation to  a  selfish  life?  For  every 
reason  selfish  ambition  ruins  happiness. 
At  the  best  it  is  short-lived,  and  needs 
to  be  kept  going  by  a  succession  of  sat- 
isfactions, which  in  turn  becomes  a  fresh 
source  of  disquietude.  INIany  a  time  hot 
ambition  may  envy  the  lot  of  the  more 
humble,  who  give  unselfish  service.     But 

221 


"©^Kc  3foes  of 


it  is  hard  for  us  to  see  the  essential 
truth  of  the  paradox  that  the  meek 
really  inherit  the  earth. 

Augustine  has  a  chapter  in  which  he 
describes  how  he  panted  after  the  hon- 
ours and  gains  and  successes  of  the 
world.  The  keenness  of  his  desires  only 
brought  most  bitter  distress.  Especially 
he  recalls  one  day  when  he  was  pre- 
paring to  recite  a  panegyric  to  the 
Emperor,  wherein  he  was  to  utter  many 
a  lie  and  be  applauded  by  those  who 
knew  he  lied.  Passing  through  one  of 
the  streets  of  Milan,  he  noticed  a  poor 
beggar,  who  had  just  had  a  good  meal, 
and  was  jocular  and  joyous.  The  con- 
trast between  the  two  states  of  mind 
impressed  him.  One  was  joyful,  the 
other  anxious ;  one  free  from  care,  the 
other  full  of  fear.  If  it  was  happiness 
that  was  sought,  the  beggar  had  fore- 
stalled him.  A  few  pence  gave  the  one 
what  he  sought,  while  the  other  was 
consumed    with    anxieties    and    feverish 

222 


JSt)ct:pfine^^ 


desires,  dragging  a  burden  which  in- 
creased by  dragging  it.  Ambition 
meant  constant  scheming,  and  weariful 
turnings  and  twistings.  Augustine 
knew  that  the  beggar  had  not  what  could 
be  called  the  true  joy,  but  no  more  had 
he  with  his  ambitious  designs.  The 
ambitious  man  gives  every  one  a  control 
over  his  happiness,  and  puts  it  in  the 
power  of  every  malicious  tongue  to  ruin 
his  peace  of  mind.  True  happiness 
comes  from  self-forgetting  work,  and 
from  service  which  does  not  think  too 
much  of  reward. 

All  forms  of  selfishness,  though  they 
at  first  seem  the  natural  way  to  attain 
happiness,  end  in  destroying  it.  In  a 
society  torn  by  ambition  in  every 
region,  there  is  raised  a  brood  of  pas- 
sions that  ruin  tranquillity  to  the  mind 
that  will  harbour  them.  One  of  the 
commonest  of  these  is  envy,  which  how- 
ever natural  in  a  warring  community,  is 

223 


"Sthc  3foc5S  of 


ignoble.  It  is  always  a  mark  of  in- 
feriority; for  a  great  mind  has  neither 
room  nor  time  for  detraction.  Addison 
declared  that  this  passion  of  envy 
reigns  more  among  bad  poets  than 
among  any  other  set  of  men.  If  this  is 
so,  the  reason  is  that  poets  may  be  more 
ambitious  of  fame,  and  in  the  scramble 
men  think  they  make  a  place  for  them-  jy  \\ 
selves  by  attacking  the  reputation  of 
their  brother  artists.  Unfortunately 
it  is  not  confined  to  bad  poets,  but  is  to 
be  found  everywhere.  It  is  surely  due 
to  a  false  view  of  life.  If  all  sought  to 
give  their  contribution  to  the  world,  we 
would  be  glad  for  every  gift  and  seek 
to  give  it  opportunity  for  it  to  do  its 
best  work.  If  true  happiness  is  social 
and  lives  in  an  atmosphere  of  good-will, 
such  a  passion  as  envy  is  one  of  the 
worst  foes  of  personal  happiness.  It 
does  not  lower  the  high,  but  really  lowers 
the  man  who  gives  way  to  it. 

For  true  happiness  we  must  cultivate 
224 


jSi)ct:jpj^inei^s 


the  spirit  which  recognises  good  where- 
ever  it  appears.  The  only  thing  to  do 
in  the  presence  of  excellence  is  to  ac- 
knowledge it,  encourage  it,  further  it, 
love  it.  We  must  avoid  the  narrowness 
which  denies  good  because  it  does  not 
wear  our  particular  badge,  and  come 
through  our  particular  channel.  How 
common  this  narrowness  is  in  every  re- 
gion, business,  literature,  art,  politics, 
even  social  service  and  religious  work. 
We  do  not  like  to  recognise  good,  which 
has  not  the  hall-mark  of  our  school,  or 
party,  or  class,  or  Church.  We  had 
rather  the  opposite  party  in  politics 
would  fail  than  that  they  should  get  the 
credit  of  passing  useful  laws  for  the 
good  of  the  country.  We  half  resent 
the  success  of  another  Church.  Detrac- 
tion rises  easily  to  our  lips,  because 
envy  rises  easily  in  our  hearts.  We 
must  learn  to  think  in  terms  of  the 
common  weal,  and  in  terms  of  the  King- 
dom of  God.     When  we  do,  we  cleanse 

225 


WflC  "^OCSi   of 


our  hearts  of  malice,  and  envy,  and  evil 
desire,  and  we  enter  into  peace. 

The  more  we  consider  the  causes  of 
unhappiness,  the  more  we  realise  that 
in  the  last  issue  they  have  a  moral  root. 
Happiness  is  a  state  of  mind  which  is 
the  fruit  of  purpose  and  of  a  life  in 
keeping  with  the  purpose.  That  is  why 
it  cannot  be  gathered  from  every  black- 
berry bush.  There  is  a  real  connection 
between  happiness  and  goodness.  Men 
discover  that  in  the  long  run  it  cannot 
be  got  through  wrongdoing.  Men  have 
instinctively  felt  that  happiness  must 
somehow  be  associated  with  whatever  is 
looked  on  as  the  great  end  of  human 
life.  The  good  man  is  not  good  in 
order  to  be  happy ;  he  does  not  practice 
virtue  for  the  sake  of  pleasure.  As 
Seneca  stated  the  Stoic  doctrine,  a  good 
man  does  not  love  virtue  because  it  gives 
pleasure,  but  it  gives  him  pleasure  be- 
cause he  loves  it.    We  are  not  to  seek  the 

226 


^ctjrpincsiS 


liighest  life  for  the  sake  of  happiness, 
and  virtue  for  the  loaves  and  fishes  may 
well  be  suspected.  At  the  same  time 
goodness  alone  can  bring  true  joy. 

From  this  point  of  view  we  see  why 
happiness  is  impossible  to  the  man  who 
breaks  the  law  of  love.  The  scheming 
selfish  man  can  never  get  peace  out  of 
life.  He  breaks  the  current  of  the 
world's  good-will.  Malice  and  liatc  of 
all  sorts  cloud  the  intellect,  so  that 
things  are  seen  out  of  their  true  per- 
spective. They  make  a  circle  of  con- 
tagion till  all  life  is  poisoned.  These 
foes  of  happiness  can  only  be  driven 
out  and  held  at  bay  by  love,  by  an  atti- 
tude of  good-will,  and  by  a  purpose  of 
service. 


227 


'©Kc  l&ieavl  of 


Poor  world,  she  cried,  so  deep  accurst 
That  runn'st  from  pole  to  pole 
To  seek  a  draught  to  slake  thy  thirst  — 
Go,  seek  it  in  thy  soul! 

Matthew  Arnold. 


IM 


^ 


"SCKc  JSbectti  of 


AT  the  heart  of  happiness  lies 
peace.  It  is  the  last  and  the 
highest  attainment  of  the  soul. 
A  surface  view  makes  it  consist  of  mo- 
tionlessness  like  the  impotence  of  death. 
It  is  not  stagnation,  but  perfect  har- 
mony, the  poise  and  complete  balance 
of  forces.  Sometimes  the  world  is 
visited  by  a  day  of  calm  with  a  hush  in 
the  air  and  a  stillness  that  seems  eternal, 
so  that  storai  seems  impossible.  We 
think  of  it  as  mere  inertia,  where  noth- 
ing is  doing,  and  nothing  is  happening. 
Instead,  it  is  the  result  of  measureless 
forces,  the  equilibrium  of  omnipotence. 
Everything  is  doing;  every  incalculable 
power  of  nature  is  at  work,  and  the  ef- 
fect is  perfect  harmony.  There  seems  a 
central  control  which  holds  everything 

231 


^hc  ^cctvi  of 


tense.  Instead  of  suggesting  weakness, 
peace  should  suggest  strength.  It  means 
control,  complete  mastery  of  all  that  is 
wayward  or  unruly. 

The  peace  of  nature  seems  like  a 
parable  of  perfect  human  life.  The  soul 
of  man  has  ever  dreamed  of  a  secret  of 
life,  which  would  make  a  man  calm  at  the 
heart,  and  bring  everything  into  a  cen- 
tral control.  Men  have  longed  for  an 
inward  serenity  which  would  give  certi- 
tude of  tread,  and  give  stillness  amid 
all  the  storms  and  distresses  of  an 
earthly  lot.  Instinctively  we  know  that 
this  ultimate  happiness  is  not  built  on 
pleasures,  but  on  peace.  It  comes  not 
from  enjoyments,  but  from  a  mind  and 
heart  at  rest.  We  do  not  always  know 
where  to  look  for  it,  but  we  know  that 
we  desire  something  like  it.  For,  peace 
is  the  dream  of  the  race.  At  the  bottom 
of  all  our  strivings,  the  explanation  of 
all  our  ceaseless  efforts  is  this  dream. 
All  our  ambitions  and  desires  have  this 

232 


^appmciSi« 


at  the  root.  A  man  gives  himself  to 
pleasure,  or  he  works  for  money  or 
power.  But  it  is  not  for  the  things 
themselves,  but  for  the  supposed  satis- 
faction of  heart  they  will  bring. 

Blindly,  instinctively  we  stretch  out 
our  hands,  and  clutch  for  the  things  we 
think  will  give  us  hearts-ease  and  a 
satisfied  life.  Men  do  not  love  money 
ill  itself:  it  is  not  the  mere  gold  or 
scrip  that  men  strive  and  toil  for.  You 
do  them  wrong  to  think  that  such  a  poor 
thing  can  be  the  ultimate  aim  of  even 
the  man  who  passes  for  a  mone3^-grub- 
ber.  He  has  a  soul  above  that.  He  in- 
vests it  with  imaginative,  almost  roman- 
tic, properties.  It  is  not  itself,  but  what 
it  stands  for,  what  it  can  do,  or  is  sup- 
posed to  be  able  to  do ;  the  security  it 
can  give  from  many  evils,  its  power  to 
beat  back  the  distresses  of  poverty ;  the 
capacity  it  has  for  pleasure  and  the 
satisfaction  of  desire.  They  are  not 
always  low  desires:    they  may  be  even 

233 


^hc  JSbcccH  of 


very  high  and  noble  desires,  the  oppor- 
tunity of  doing  good  and  carrying  for- 
ward plans  of  large  reach,  the  oppor- 
tunity for  acquiring  knowledge,  of 
enriching  the  life  with  all  that  art  and 
the  best  thought  of  man  can  do.  If  we 
are  dupes,  we  are  not  always  ignoble 
dupes.  What  all  men  long  for  and 
strive  after  is  the  state  of  blessedness, 
which  these  particular  things  are  sup- 
posed to  give.  Our  aim,  beneath  all  sur- 
face aims,  is  to  attain  to  peace,  content 
of  heart,  a  satisfied  life. 

We  may  be  asking  for  the  impossible, 
but  if  we  ask  for  it  let  us  at  least  real- 
ise what  a  great  boon  we  crave.  It  is 
greater  than  joy,  which  is  too  acute  a 
passion  to  last.  When  joy  subsides,  as 
it  must,  we  are  asking  for  some  per- 
manent fruits  of  joy.  Peace  is  like  the 
full  tide,  after  its  flow  and  before  its 
ebb,  as  the  sea  holds  itself  in  poise, 
flooding  every  inlet  and  bathing  every 
shore.      Our    ideal    here    is    no    stoical 

234 


^ctppmeisd 


crushing  of  the  natural  impulses  of  the 
heart,  but  a  power  that  uplifts  and  sup- 
ports and  fills  the  life.  If  there  is  an 
art  of  peace,  it  must  be  the  supreme 
achievement  of  human  nature.  The  first 
thing  to  know  is  the  region  where  we 
can  look  for  it,  or  at  least  where  it  is 
not  worth  while  to  look  for  it.  To  learn 
this  is  itself  a  real  advance.  INlost  of 
our  mistakes  are  due  to  failure  to  un- 
derstand this. 

Every  master  of  the  deep  things  of 
life  assures  us  that  peace  must  be  found 
within.  It  is  "  not  as  the  world  giveth." 
We  are  often  irritated  by  the  profound 
teachers,  because  they  insist  on  this,  and 
tell  us  that  all  our  usual  methods  are 
futile.  Yet,  if  there  is  to  be  peace  at 
all,  it  must  be  not  as  the  world  giveth ; 
for  the  world  has  never  succeeded  in 
giving  it  to  any  son  of  man.  Peace  is 
the  dream  of  the  race  we  have  said,  but 
dispeace  is  the  experience  of  the   race. 

235 


^Kc  JSi>cixvl  of 


For  a  few  years  men  long  for  happiness, 
and  perhaps  achieve  it:  for  ever  they 
are  longing  for  rest.  The  world  cannot 
give  it  with  all  its  good  gifts;  for  it 
belongs  to  a  region  which  the  world  can- 
not reach.  The  world  can  give  much, 
but  it  cannot  give  this.  The  world  can 
give  distractions ;  it  cannot  give  peace. 
This  is  a  state  of  the  heart,  an  inward 
gift,  the  water  of  a  fountain  that 
springs  up  from  within,  a  condition  of 
the  soul.  To  win  true  peace  a  man  must 
have  his  infinite  thirst  appeased:  he 
needs  to  have  his  soul  satisfied,  and  no 
earthly  gifts  can  bring  that  appease- 
ment. 

We  cannot  even  get  near  the  secret 
till  we  give  up  the  belief,  or  even  the 
hope,  that  the  world  can  give  it.  Where- 
ever  else,  it  is  certainly  not  there !     Let  j\ 

the  man  most  fortunate  in  his  surround- 
ings, rich  in  all  the  possibilities  and  op- 
portunities of  life,  with  every  avenue  of 
pleasure   and  power   and  ambition   and 

236 


jSbctj^j^inei&a 


knowledge  open  to  him,  let  him  say  if 
the  world  can  give  peace.  Sometimes  it 
is  only  when  all  the  gifts  of  fortune, 
the  world's  good  things,  are  torn  from  a 
man,  that  he  learns  how  futile  they  were, 
and  how  little  they  really  did  for  the 
satisfaction  of  life.  Shakespeare  makes 
Wolsey  in  his  fall,  when  his  high-blown 
pride  broke  under  him,  realise  this. 
When  the  killing  frost  nipped  the  root 
of  his  ripening  greatness,  he  saw  how 
insecure  the  foundation  of  his  life  had 
been ;  and  that  tliere  was  a  peace  he  had 
been  losing  above  all  earthly  dignities. 
Dante  in  exile,  driven  from  all  he  held 
dear  in  life,  visited  a  monastery  to  leave 
there  the  first  portion  of  the  Inferno. 
The  story  of  his  visit  is  told  by  the 
prior  of  the  monastery.  "  As  he  was 
unknown  to  me  and  my  brethren,  I 
asked  him  What  would  you?  And  he 
answering  not  a  word  but  gazing  at  the 
building,  I  asked  him  again  what  he 
sought.     He  then,  looking  round  upon 

237 


^hc  JSbcctvl  of 


me  and  my  brethren,  answered,  Peace.^' 
How  typical  of  man  and  the  whole  life 
of  man  the  incident  was,  as  Dante  turned 
his  burning  eyes  upon  the  wondering 
monks,  and  asked  out  of  his  sorrowful 
heart  the  one  word.  Peace.  There  was 
no  peace  for  him,  except  the  peace  of 
soul  which  might  come  from  detach- 
ment from  the  vulgar  struggles  and 
ambitions  of  men  in  Florence.  If  he 
could  not  find  it  in  his  Divina  Com- 
media,  he  could  never  find  it  in  the  fair 
City  of  Flowers. 

At  the  risk  of  wearisome  iteration, 
this  has  to  be  said,  and  repeated,  that 
peace  is  independent  of  outside  condi- 
tion. We  cannot  advance  one  inch 
towards  the  secret,  till  we  see  and  con- 
fess that  it  is  not  as  the  world  giveth. 
Those  who  have  reached  this  peace 
which  is  the  heart  of  happiness  are  em- 
phatic on  this  point,  and  their  life  bears 
witness  that  they  did  not  find  it  in  out- 
ward success.     There  is  the  Master,  who 

238 


^appmcs^ 


left  as  his  only  bequest  his  regal  legacy 
of  peace.  With  failure  behind  him  in 
the  world's  judgment,  and  before  him  a 
cross ;  a  man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted 
with  grief  —  and  yet  with  serenity  of 
soul,  and  quiet  of  heart,  with  peace 
brooding  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  beyond 
the  tumult  to  the  triumph.  It  was  a 
quality  of  soul,  not  an  accident  of 
fortune.  There  is  Paul  who  had  learned 
the  same  secret,  writing  about  peace  to 
his  fellow-believers.  He  was  in  prison, 
after  a  life  of  terrible  toil  and  terrible 
privation,  with  the  care  of  all  the 
churches,  with  troubles  on  every  side, 
fightings  without  and  fears  within ;  a 
broken  and  scarred  life!  And  yet  as  he 
bore  on  his  body  the  marks  of  the  Lord 
Jesus,  so  he  carried  in  his  heart  the 
peace  of  the  Lord  Jesus.  Surely, 
surely,  not  as  the  world  giveth. 

We  find  it  hard  to  accept  this,  hard  to 
give  up  our  feverish  attempts  to  reach 
peace  by  outside  means.     We  put  down 

239 


^hc  JSi)caA  of 


our  unrest  and  dispeace  to  our  uncon- 
genial  conditions.      If   only   we   had   a 
sweeter   environment,   it   would  be   well 
with  us,  we  think.     It  is  true  that  the 
world  sometimes  gives  a  false  peace,  an 
appearance  of  tranquillity  of  life,  when 
all  things  go  smoothly  with  a  man,  and 
prosperity  abounds,  and  the  granaries 
are  full,  when  health  is  given  and  with 
it    capacity    for    pleasure.      The    soul 
sleeps  easily  in  such  days  of  peace  and 
slumberous  calm.     But  spiritual  torpor 
is    not    peace;     for    what     about     the 
awakening  that  must  come?     Or,  there 
may  be  a  spurious  peace  which  is  the 
fruit  of  ignorance,  from  a  conscience  not 
too  enlightened,  a  taste  not  too  refined, 
a  mind  that  has  never  seen  the  better 
part   of  life,   from   stupid   contentment 
with  the  lower  part,  from  what  Carlyle 
calls  a  brutal  lethargy. 

This     is    the    damning    fact    about 
all  forms  of  worldly  peace  that  there 

240 


^apjrmcsi« 


is  no  security,  and  no  permanence  of 
tenure  even.  It  is  a  capricious  thing, 
accidental.  A  slight  rearrangement  of 
details,  and  the  palace  of  dream 
vanishes.  What  the  world  gives,  the 
world  can  take  away,  and  will  take 
away.  None  of  the  world's  gifts  are 
evil  in  themselves,  and  may  be  good 
gifts  of  God.  The  reason  why  we  must 
not  love  the  world  is  not  because  it  is 
evil,  but  because  it  is  transient.  It 
passeth  away.  At  the  best  it  is  not 
sufficient,  it  is  not  adequate  as  the  stay 
of  life.  The  most  fortunate  circum- 
stances are  only  fortuitous  after  all.  At 
the  world's  banquet,  the  richest  and 
rarest,  there  is  suspended  the  fateful 
sword  of  Damocles  hung  by  a  hair ;  and 
the  hair  will  wear  through  sometime. 

It  is  no  despisal  of  the  common 
sources  of  human  happiness  to  say  that 
they  cannot  last.  In  the  nature  of  the 
case  they  are  temporary.  Even  if  they 
did  not  change,  we  change,  and  can  no 

241 


"©Kc  ^ectvi  of 


longer  be  fully  satisfied  with  what  once 
was  enough.  At  each  stage  of  our  life 
there  are  appropriate  pleasures,  but 
they  lose  their  power  when  we  pass  out 
of  one  stage  to  another.  A  man  cannot 
be  pleased  with  a  child's  toys.  Some  of 
the  experiences  also,  which  meant  the  joy 
of  an  overflowing  cup,  pass  never  to  be 
renewed.  The  first  taste  of  life's  sweet- 
est joy  may  well  intoxicate  the  fresh 
heart  that  knows  it. 

"O  happy  world,"  thought  Pelleas,  "all  me- 

seems, 
Are  happy;  I  the  happiest  of  them  all." 
Nor  slept  that  night  for  pleasm-e  in  his  blood. 

But  life  cannot  stay  at  that  height  of 
fervour.  We  soon  get  used  to  any 
state,  and  cease  to  be  either  surprised 
or  rejoiced.  The  bloom  rubs  off,  and  the 
first  flutter  can  never  be  renewed.  This 
is  the  hell  of  the  pleasure-seeker  that 
his  pleasures  pall,  and  bring  only  secret 
loathing,  while  the  heart  is  still  con- 
sumed with  thirst. 

242 


^appmcsi)5 


Apart  from  this  transient  character 
of  the  world's  peace,  its  quality  also  is 
poor  and  threadbare,  and  men  feel  its 
failure  even  when  they  possess  it.  There 
are  few  more  impressive  and  more 
pathetic  pages  in  literature  than  those 
in  which  Count  Tolstoi  describes  in 
his  "  Confessions  "  the  emptiness  and 
vanity  of  worldly  things.  He  was  a 
nobleman,  in  pre-eminently  happy  cir- 
cumstances, with  a  continually  increas- 
ing income,  respected  by  friends, 
praised  by  strangers,  happy  in  his 
home-life,  with  a  great  position  and  rep- 
utation as  an  author,  enjoying  the  best 
of  mental  and  physical  strength ;  and 
yet  he,  a  healthy  and  happy  man,  was 
brought  to  feel  that  he  could  live  no 
longer.  He  had  to  fight  against  the 
temptation  to  commit  suicide.  He  gave 
up  carrying  a  gun,  because  it  offered 
too  easy  a  way  of  getting  rid  of  life. 
The  reason  was  because  he  felt  that  life 
had  no  meaning  for  him.     He  was  not 

243 


"©he  JSi)cixvl  of 


content  just  to  exist,  and  that  was  all 
he  was  doing.  His  life,  viewed  from  the 
point  of  reason,  had  no  reason  for  con- 
tinuance. It  seemed  a  foolish  and 
wicked  joke  played  on  him  by  he  knew 
not  whom.  He  gave  himself  up  to 
knowledge,  and  studied  science,  but  all 
in  vain;  the  same  torturing  sense  of 
meaninglessness  remained. 

He  came  to  see  and  confess  that  faith 
alone  gave  man  an  answer  as  to  the  mean- 
ing of  life,  and  the  consequent  possibility 
of  living.  He  saw  that  faith  alone  could 
clothe  with  infinity  the  finite  existence 
of  man,  and  give  a  meaning  to  life  which 
triumphs  over  suffering,  privation,  and 
death.  But  though  he  came  to  under- 
stand this,  his  heart  was  none  the  lighter 
for  it.  He,  the  rich  and  learned  and 
illustrious  nobleman,  envied  the  peasant 
for  his  quiet  faith.  At  last  when  he 
came  humbly  to  Jesus  and  bent  his  neck 
to  the  yoke  of  Christ,  he  too  entered  into 
the  inheritance  of  peace.     In  the  Intro- 

244 


^appmcsis 


duction  to  his  next  book,  he  wrote,  "  For 
thirtj-five  years  of  my  life  I  was  a  man 
who  beheved  in  nothing.  Five  years  ago 
faith  came  to  me;  I  believed  in  the  doc- 
trine of  Jesus,  and  my  whole  life  under- 
went a  sudden  transformation.  What 
I  had  wished  for  I  wished  for  no  longer, 
and  I  began  to  desire  what  I  had  never 
desired  before.  What  had  once  ap- 
peared to  me  right  now  became  wrong, 
and  the  wrong  of  the  past  I  beheld  as 
right.  .  .  .  My  soul,  once  filled  with 
despair  of  life  and  fear  of  death,  is 
now  full  of  happiness  and  peace." 

It  is  not  enough  to  know  that  the 
insatiable  heart  of  man  can  never  reach 
peace  by  way  of  the  outward.  We 
may  say  that  we  are  foredoomed  to 
failure,  if  we  make  happiness  consist  in 
acquisition.  We  may  even  be  persuaded 
that  we  cannot  be  satisfied  by  clutching 
after  things,  opening  hands  and  mouths 
like  children  of  the  horseleech.     It  is  not 

245 


^hc  Sbectvi  of 


enough  even  to  know  the  true  home  of 
happiness  as  in  the  soul.  We  need  to 
know  its  method  as  well  as  its  seat.  It 
is  good  to  know  that  peace  is  independ- 
ent of  place  as  it  is  of  fortune.  A  man 
can  have  it  in  the  narrowest  corner  of 
life.  He  can  be  possessed  by  it  amid 
distractions  and  labours,  through  fiery 
trials  and  temptations,  even  with  sorrow 
and  tears.  If  it  cannot  be  gotten  for 
gold,  it  cannot  be  lost  through  poverty. 
If  the  world  cannot  give  it,  the  world 
cannot  take  it  away.  But  how?  It  is 
by  what  looks  like  a  lowly  way,  through 
the  giving  up  of  self.  So  long  as  our 
scheme  of  life  makes  self  first  in 
the  hunt,  so  long  is  peace  impossible. 
All  or  any  of  the  forms  of  selfishness 
at  once  destroy  peace  —  covetousness, 
envy,  passion,  self-will,  vanity,  ambition, 
craving  of  appetite.  It  is  not  merely 
that  in  the  fraction  which  we  call  life, 
the  value  of  the  fraction  can  be  added  to 
as  easily  by  reducing  the  denominator 

246 


^crppine^d 


as  by  increasing  the  numerator.  It  is 
rather  that  a  new  centre  is  given  to  the 
whole  life. 

Some  balk  at  this  because  they  think 
it  means  renunciation,  tlie  old  hoarse 
song  of  giving  up  and  going  without. 
But  before  we  judge  and  condenm  it, 
let  us  put  it  to  the  proof  of  action. 
Like  ever^^thing  else,  it  nmst  stand  the 
test  of  experience.  On  the  one  side  we 
have  seen  the  failure  of  the  rival 
method,  that  never  son  of  man  has 
reached  the  still  heart  of  happiness  that 
way.  We  are  troubled  guests  in  an 
inhospitable  world,  which  refuses  us  all 
we  ask.  On  the  other  side  we  learn  as  a 
matter  of  experience  the  tnjth  of  the 
profound  saying  that  whosoever  will 
save  his  life  will  lose  it,  and  whosoever 
will  lose  his  life  saves  it.  The  man  who 
puts  it  to  the  test  finds  peace,  opens  up 
a  source  of  life  within  that  never  runs 
dry.  It  is  discovered  to  be  no  self-muti- 
lation, but  the  gate  to  a  larger  life.    The 

247 


iShc  JSbcavi  of 


giving  up  of  the  lower  self  is  not  a  mere 
negation  of  desire,  but  making  room  for 
the  higher  self,  opening  up  the  life  to  a 
greater  desire,  a  larger  hope  and  a 
nobler  love.  It  proves  itself  by  finding 
at  last  the  true  equilibrium  of  life.  At 
the  heart  of  this  happiness  there  is 
peace. 

This  is  no  mystical  experience,  an 
ecstatic  feeling  without  foothold  on  fact. 
In  practice  it  means  the  life  of  love  and 
of  service.  It  means  finding  the  life  in 
the  larger  social  life.  Love  is  the  fulfill- 
ing of  the  whole  law.  Every  act  of 
good-will  brings  us  into  relation  to  the 
universal  order.  We  can  test  the  tree 
by  its  fruits.  The  selfish,  self-centred 
life  fails  even  in  giving  joy.  What  we 
often  misname  sacrifice  means  the  out- 
going of  life,  and  joy  comes  from  the 
free  outpouring  of  our  highest  nature. 
So,  to  be  without  love  is  the  crime  of  life. 
It  is  also  the  beam  in  the  eye  that  vitiates 
the  whole  sight.    This  law  of  love  proves 

248 


JSi)ctpfiine&^ 


its  truth  as  a  rule  of  life  —  proves  itself 
as  even  the  only  way  to  lasting  hap- 
piness. If  a  man  gives  his  every  effort 
to  getting  love,  though  that  is  the  highest 
boon  of  all  and  the  chief  source  of  hap- 
piness, he  fails.  He  fails  not  only  to  get 
happiness,  but  fails  in  the  long  run  even 
to  get  love.  If  a  man  offers  all  he  is  and 
has,  simply  expresses  his  full  humanity, 
pours  out  his  good-will  in  thought  and 
word  and  act,  he  not  only  gets  love,  but 
he  gets  a  joy  that  never  fails.  He  seems 
to  be  at  peace  with  the  deepest  life  of  the 
world. 

One  reason  wh}^  we  cannot  know  com- 
plete happiness  in  the  region  of  the  out- 
ward is  because  we  long  for  unity,  a 
centre  of  control  which  means  a  centre  of 
rest.  Life  otherwise  is  scattered,  and 
incoherent.  It  is  precisely  here  that 
religion  shows  its  power,  uniting  the 
broken  fragments  of  life  in  a  supreme 
purpose.     There  is  a  phrase  which  Paul 

249 


^Hc  JSbccxvl  of 


uses  which  indicates  this  function  of 
faith,  "  Let  the  peace  of  Christ  rule  in 
your  hearts."  It  is  a  metaphor  from  the 
contests  of  wrestlers  and  runners.  The 
word  rule  is  strictly  "  arbitrate,"  act  as 
umpire  to  settle  disputes.  As  a  referee 
takes  upon  him  to  decide  difficulties 
which  may  arise  in  a  contest,  and 
the  combatants  must  submit  to  his 
ruling,  so  this  peace  may  be  umpire  in 
our  hearts  amid  the  conflict  of  motives 
and  desires.  Paul  conceives  of  it  as 
something  which  all  may  have  and  ought 
to  have.  It  is  not  dependent  on  special 
providence  nor  exceptional  grace.  It  is 
open  to  all  and  therefore  is  a  duty  incum- 
bent on  all.  It  is  meant  as  a  plain  guide 
of  practice.  It  is  too  seldom  attained, 
because  we  keep  seeking  it  where  no  man 
can  find  it.  We  think  it  must  come 
through  the  satisfaction  of  desire,  and 
no  doubt  desire  is  sometimes  satisfied. 
But  this  can  never  be  the  lot  of  all,  nor 
indeed  of  any  all  the  time.     Some  of  us 

250 


ra«i.'~> 


^appmciss 


will  never  get  that  which  we  think  would 
make  us  perfectly  happy.  Some  of  our 
desires  will  remain  unappeascd.  So  long 
as  there  are  pain  and  sorrow  and  loss  in 
the  world  —  that  is  so  long  as  the  world 
lasts  —  perfect  happiness  of  that  sort 
can  never  be  possible  for  all  men.  We 
need  a  principle  of  unit}-  amid  all  the 
jarring  elements  of  human  life,  as  we 
need  a  centre  of  rest  amid  the  unceasing 
flux  of  things  around  us. 

In  the  last  issue  our  only  sure  stay  is 
in  the  thought  of  God.  If  we  would  bring 
coherence  into  our  lives,  we  nmst  bring 
a  definite  purpose,  and  before  that  pur- 
pose can  bring  us  perfect  peace  we  must 
see  it  related  to  the  very  purpose  of  God. 
Only  thus  have  we  "  an  anchor  of  tlie 
soul  both  sure  and  steadfast  and  which 
entereth  into  that  within  the  veil."  Even 
those  who  feel  that  they  have  not  found 
the  secret,  and  who  only  look  at  it  afar 
off,  confess  its  need.  Amiol,  at  a  time 
when  everything  seemed  to  him  arbitrary 

251 


^hc  JSbcctvi  of 


and  fortuitous,  although  he  declared 
that  he  had  not  got  for  himself  this  faith, 
acknowledged  his  need  of  it.  "  To  win 
true  peace,"  he  says,  "  a  man  needs  to 
feel  himself  directed,  pardoned,  and  sus- 
tained by  a  supreme  power,  to  feel  him- 
self in  the  right  road,  at  the  point  where 
God  would  have  him  be,  —  in  order  with 
God  and  the  universe.  This  faith  gives 
strength  and  calm." 

Only  here  also  can  be  found  peace  in 
the  heart's  worst  desolation.  A  faith  in 
God,  which  takes  into  its  sweep  all  the 
future,  lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  perma- 
nent peace  of  heart.  Though  we  may 
ignore  the  whole  question  for  a  time,  the 
day  comes  when  we  stand  beside  an  open 
grave,  and  either  bury  our  heart  with 
the  dust,  or  else  give  it  wings  to  mount 
up  like  eagles.  Our  ultimate  happiness 
and  peace  even  here  depend  on  this. 
Pascal's  solemn  words  are  utterly  true 
about   the  unspeakable  tragedy  of  life 

252 


JSbctpj^inc^^ 


apart  from  this  faith,  "  We  need  no 
great  elevation  of  soul  to  understand 
that  here  is  no  true  and  solid  satisfaction, 
that  all  our  pleasures  are  but  vanity,  our 
evils  infinite,  and  lastly  that  death  which 
threatens  us  every  moment,  must  infal- 
libly and  within  a  few  years  come.  Noth- 
ing is  more  real  than  this,  nothing  more 
terrible.  Brave  it  out  as  we  may,  that 
is  yet  the  end  which  awaits  the  fairest 
life  in  the  world."  We  reach  ultimate 
peace  on  this  darkest  problem  not  by 
processes  of  reasoning,  but  by  accepting 
the  religious  presupposition  of  life.  If 
we  believe  in  the  future,  it  is  because  we 
believe  in  God.  Our  faith  is  a  strong 
hand  in  the  dark,  and  we  move  in  peace 
to  its  leading.  To  every  man  in  some 
solemn  hour  comes  the  question  which  he 
must  ask  as  he  looks  out  into  the  dark, 
"  Whether  't  is  ampler  day  divinelier  lit, 
or  homeless  night  without." 


253 


UNIVERSITY  OF  -^ATj^ORNIA.  LOS   '^^G^^^- 


tmiVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNL 
AT 
LOS  ANGELES 


n 


mmmm} 

3  1158  00424  7028 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  503  219 


!'!''lin!l!!!!lill 


liilliii 


